


Piercing the Swordsman

by MetellaStella



Category: Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart (Cartoon)
Genre: Amputee, Canon Disabled Character, Chip on the shoulder the size of a boulder, Culture Shock, Daddy Issues, Dragons, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Family Secrets, M/M, Magic, Metaphors for Disability, Oh and when I say 'Culture Shock' I mean like LIGHTING STRIKE, Platonic Life Partners, Team as Family, Worldbuilding, Worldbuilding is my anti-drug, [PLP/QPR is the Badgermao relationship for those of you wondering], dragons make everything better, queer platonic relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23697409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetellaStella/pseuds/MetellaStella
Summary: Edit: I've just hit upon some advance chapters that actually go DEEP into the systemics of Mao's powers. Yay!Will get *quite a bit* sensual in places, but no outright smut. Heaping helpings of cute tactile affection typical of felines, large and little. Snugglemao. Rare raw emotional vulnerability moments from our favorite small tsundere sheriff.“The singsong king has a soft touch, both physically and mentally, despite his size and physique. To break down the barrier that seems to outsize his little cat quarry, it’s going to take a lot. He’ll have to pull out all the stops.”Some notes:What Mao Mao eventually says about purring is, to some extent, true in the real world.Mao Mao’s observations about lions he’s met are factual in the real world.“Dudrato” is an in-universe word for bisexual. Will be explained.Warriorhood as discussed here, as you might imagine, follows some aspects of Greek conventions.
Relationships: Badgerclops & Mao Mao Mao, Mao Mao Mao/King Snugglemagne
Comments: 29
Kudos: 115





	1. Intro

I apologize, but for some reason I just really want to call him Mao. Not as a nickname, but it just . . . flows better in writing, m'kay? I hate to say it but it allows me to take him more seriously. And I already take him . . . **FAR** more seriously than the tone of the show warrants. It spawned this fic, though, and I think you will be thoroughly pleased.   
  
I heard someone comment that he was 30, but others say 24. My impression was like 32.   
  
It's . . . somehow refreshing to see an adult as a main character of a kid's show. Even animes *made* for adults often have teens or coming-of-age young adult type stories and that this dude is an already a self-assured, skilled and established powerhouse of this world is cool. Yes, I know the setting is too goofy to maybe delve into that too much or develop it, but still. I love Adorabat immensely but I kinda find myself hoping he'll get a real apprentice, even briefly in an arc, or an episode or two, so he can play more of a real mentorly role and less babysitter. 

Anyway, enough with that. On to the fluff. 

* * *

It all started one day when the king had grown bold enough.  
  
He had private meetings with his appointed executive enforcer quite often. They had grown used to the comfortable routine. The king even wondered if he should keep using the royal ‘we.’ Both of them enjoyed talking, though sometimes when the king tried to meander off topic, the serious dark cat would abruptly haul up on the reins of the conversation, as if steering a stubborn stallion steed.  
  
The playful monarch liked that stark, no-nonsense air of duty. 

It gave him shivers. 

The king gladly gave up authority in this respect, letting Mao direct almost wholly what they talked about. To be perfectly honest, Snugglemagne had very little experience with fortifications of any sort, due to the fact that generations of his namesake relied solely on the Ruby Pure Heart. The gem had made his civilization soft, but very few begrudged them that. People still came from miles around to see the magnificent ruby.  
  
Coincidentally, the gem was subject on the table the first time he made headway into the cat’s inner heart. 

Something had been bothering the red samurai for a few weeks. His movements were stiffer. His words, already usually pretty clipped, flew even less. He paid attention to the king as raptly as usual, large radar-dish ears pricked, green eyes tied with a focus that put to shame his wandering-mind partner, not to mention turned the king’s insides to mush.  
  
But in between being mesmerized by the shiny flecks sprinkled like magic dust inside his irises- “And we have **_so_ ** much experience with the magic dust trade, let us tell you,”- it struck the lion that the cat was _listening_ more often than voicing thoughts. 

“Say, sheriff,” the lion flouncily waved a paw, “is something the matter?”  
  
Mao spluttered in the most adorable way. “N-n-no my liege, nothing.”  
  
“You just seem very tense lately. Won’t you tell us? We- Isn’t it a matter of state security that we know anything that might affect your performance?” The big cat was completely teasing him, but it broke his heart the way Mao looked as if he had been rudely chastised. His ears fell from their heights, his impossibly big eyes got bigger, the already present tension ratcheted up. Red gloves folded under more new pressure.  
  
The younger feline was hyper-sensitive to disapproval. Snugglemagne tut tutted to himself silently. He knew the poor cat was fragile when it came to others’ opinions, as evidenced by his popularity charts comparing his apprentice and his right hand man, and the king was even higher stakes in that regard. He certainly hadn’t meant to rub that bruise in his dear little samurai’s armor. 

Cut to the quick, Mao began apologizing, “I’m sorry my liege, I’m being irresponsible aren’t I, you must think I’m-”

Knowing these spurts of self-abasement could go on for ages, the king stepped in. “No, sheriff. It’s quite alright. Listen, if you don’t want to tell us, perhaps we can do something else for you. Would you like us to arrange for Quinton to give you a massage? They do absolute _wonders_ for us.” The king made a grandiose gesture and giggled.  
  
In his head he insisted that **_he_ ** wanted to be the one to stroke that black velvety fur, but he would . . . delay that a little longer. This was . . . more proper.  
  
Snapped out of his flinch, the cat put a paw to his shoulder and rolled it. The pained grunt and the power in the gesture sent the king into a small tizzy. Those arms had sent multi-ton monsters flying. The idea that they could be the source of ‘weakness’ was both ironic and somehow cosmically unfair. 

Hackles raised and indignant on Mao’s behalf, beginning an internal monologue and tirade on the idea, he almost missed the cat’s words. 

“How can a _bird_ with wings give massages that are any good?”  
  
Now Snugglemagne was wrestling with two warring feelings. On the one hand, he was affronted that what was good enough for a king was apparently not good enough for this hotshot! Not to mention it was insulting to avians. On the other, this was an opening, and possibly the best one he would ever get.  
  
He pounced.  
  
“Well sheriff,” hoping his voice was not giving him away. Good thing it was _already_ high-pitched. “Why don’t you let me-”

He reached out a paw and laid it on top of the cat’s cape experimentally. Mao looked slightly bemused perhaps, but it was not an outright bad reaction. 

Right then.  
  
Tally ho.  
  
First one paw, and then the other. He bunched the fabric under them as he kneaded the knots beneath.  
  
“You have your claws filed,” the other cat observed.  
  
“Mmmm hmmm.”  
  
“Don’t they splinter?”  
  
“Oh no, no, no, Chamile has a very good moisturizing and binding salve to prevent that,” the big cat went on cheerily about his head sorceress. “There . . . might actually be some magic involved in it? You know I never thought to ask. Would you like me to get you some?” Did he seem too eager?

The look Mao leveled at the king, was, to put it mildly, withering.  
  
“Oh right, I-I’m sure a warrior giving up his claws would be . . . frowned upon, y-yes?” The king’s high tenor trembled. Being on the receiving end of the black cat’s anger flares was a whole lot more unnerving than he liked to admit, even before being drawn to him.  
  
“I’ve already disgraced my family by . . . “ his baritone dropped out.  
  
After a few seconds of silence, the white cat prompted, “By . . .?”  
  
Nope, his walls were back up.  
  
“To add to my- let’s say many mis-steps- would be out of the question,” his deep voice intoned resolutely.  
  
The king would’ve liked to chirp out a ‘Suit yourself,’ but the gravity of the dark cat merely made him swallow his words and tend to his task. 

Seated under him, Mao seemed even smaller than usual. The lion’s paws were so big his pinkies were practically rubbing the inside of the black elbows. So he focused on his first two fingers, back and forth across the slant upwards from the shoulders. What were they called? He voiced the question aloud.  
  
“Trapezius muscles,” Mao answered. To be skilled in hand-to-hand combat, a knowledge of anatomy greatly helped in both targeting areas of an opponent’s body and refining your own efficiency of movement. 

“You’re so smart,” the king crooned, and the muscles under him softened. It seemed the compliment had done just as much as the rubbing, pound for pound.  
  
Some other animals might’ve politely deflected the compliment, but Mao always drank in his praise just as much as he was devastated by any words of reprimand. The king liked to entertain the idea that it indicated reciprocated feelings for him, but he had gained enough rumors and whispers about Mao’s sire to suspect there was much more to it than that. 

Although the lion had enjoyed a marvelous relationship with his own father, he wasn’t a complete stranger to the workings of animals with chips on their shoulders. People found him, naturally enough, warm and welcoming and would pour out their cares on him if given the least provocation. The sheriff, it seemed, would need a little more working on. 

That was fine. He was patient. Well, he was often impatient and demanding with his lackey, Quinton, yes. But he _was_ trained as a diplomat. He was patient for things that really mattered.


	2. Cracked

His regular massages weren’t brightening up the cat as much as he would have hoped. Yes, the muscles were loose after he was done with him. He moved with more ease. But the black cat’s overall mood didn’t seem to be changing.    
  
Today, as he started in on Mao, he surprised the king by unclasping his cloak. There was nothing sensual in the gesture. It was done with little fanfare. He simply did it and something that sounded like ‘better grip’ came out in a mumble. Moving down onto his elbows in the usual position on the table, he slumped.

“Indeed,” the king said as nonchalantly as he could muster, though his stomach fluttered. 

Mao obviously found the attention, even before it had begun, lulling.    
  
To keep his mind off of wanting his hands to roam to different places, the king asked what was probably too personal a question, but he went for it anyway. “Does your back hurt from losing your tail?”

An ear flicked towards him, and Mao only shifted enough for a small bit on the side of his eye to show, the clear orb sticking far out from the flat iris in profile like a snowglobe. 

The smaller cat was putting the king in considerable suspense to wonder if he was going to get his head bitten off or simply left in the lurch by silence.   
  
Snugglemagne could only imagine that an injury like that could’ve pulled down on his spine the moment it happened, dealing serious damage aside from just removing his counterbalance. Or Mao might’ve tugged upwards as a reflex to the pain, doing essentially the same thing. 

Mao was still considering.    
  
Recovering from such a traumatic stretching of vertebra, discs, and muscles might’ve taken a great deal of physical therapy to recover, even with magic healing mixed in. Although he knew Mao wouldn’t appreciate it, pity welled up within him. After that surge of feelings, he found he was impressed at his tenacity, incredibly even more than he had been before he had stopped to think about it. Even if all that had happened was splintered tail bones, that would’ve taken no little surgical mastery to remove the pieces properly, and more or less completely relearning his many katas.    
  
Finally, the smaller cat answered. But no details. All he offered was, “It did, at first.”   
  
Brusque, to the point.    
  
Now the curiosity in the big cat wedged itself even deeper. But it was clear he was already prying. Admitting defeat, he didn’t needle him any further.    
  
As if feeling too exposed by the admission, the cat quickly began prattling on about something unrelated. “That orangusnake guy is fun to toy with. I can pick the most mundane things to brag about. Like, I have two more lumbar vertebrae than he does. I mean I’m pretty sure it _ does _ give us cats more flexibility . . . ? But nothing to write home about, so-”   
  
“Mao,” the king interrupted gently, using his real name.    
  
“. . . yes?”   
  
“Just so I’m clear,” the lion dropped the royal ‘we,’ briefly, pressing down on either side of the smaller cat’s spine with a fainter and fainter touch till he had reached the bottom of his ribcage, “should I not . . .” he tried not to grit his teeth at the unfairness of it, “go too low?”   
  
“ **_No._ ** ” The answer came so quickly and forcefully that he found himself trying to parse whether it was from personal discomfort or real possibility of the king re-igniting some of the old injury. He burned to know these things. But he’d have to leave it for now. Even with his hackles not raised under the white paws, the warrior was giving off every other signal of ‘Drop it.’    
  
The cat resumed his aimless talking. That reassured the lion on one level, even though it left him wanting on another. “I even let ol’ O.S. believe I had a tail for a while and for some reason that made the orangutan jealous? He never got a good enough look at me. He just assumed.”    
  
“Moving too much in a blur, huh?” the king said warmly, and he enjoyed Mao’s proud baritone chuckle much more than he should.    
  
“I used it at a crucial moment to throw him off,” Mao said wistfully.    
  
“Oh ho now my daring hero is a schemer?”    
  
The muscles under him bunched.

“I was teasing, M-”   
  
“I picked it up from an old partner, OK?” the black cat snapped. “She left a lot of fingerprints on me that I don’t like . . .”    
  
The king’s gossip-geared mind immediately buzzed at that particular phrasing. Did he mean a fighting partner, or a loving one? Both? The king felt he had already used up Mao’s incredibly small tolerance for personal questions this time around, so he filed it for later.    
  
“And besides, that snake guy . . . he’s never going to get to become what he wants either if he lets little things like that get to him.”   
  
“You say that as if you’d  _ want _ him to succeed.”    
  
“What he wants could change.  _ She _ certainly knew enough players who switched sides, or some that treated it like a revolving door,” he said with disgust. 

The king waited with anticipation for more. It sounded intriguing! But he didn’t seem forthcoming, settling back into his place. “O.S. . . he wants respect. I can at least understand that.”    
  
“Wait, you call him ‘he’ not ‘they’?”

“Yeah, y’know Badgerclops straight up asked the guy right in the middle of a fight which he preferred. Like, why would you bring that up AND have a whole in-depth discussion about it when you’re supposed to be clobbering him, them, whatever!”   
  
“I think I would be slightly offended if I heard him saying ‘we,’” the king sniffed daintily. “Too much like the royal ‘we’, you know?”   
  
Mao growled with relish. “If he had insisted on it, I’d beat him until he relinquished your  _ special _ address, Your Majesty.” The vibration under his paws was delightful. It had him anticipating a purr, and in one way he wished the first thing he felt  _ had _ been a purr, but eh. Such was life. 

One where you were smitten with a spitfire kitten. 

The king was very glad Mao was turned away from him at the moment because of the furious blush over the cat’s . . . well, his sort of  _ protectiveness _ . Maybe he should call him ‘his knight’ rather than sheriff . . . that did have quite a ring to it.    
  
“And Badgerclops would be all, ‘Dude people have the right to pick their pronouns’ and I would yell at him that’s not the same thing at all!!” Mao was throwing himself into it now. “Sometimes I think I tolerate too much goofiness in him.” 

The king didn’t quite know what to say to that. It seemed his own lightheartedness didn’t bother the samurai, but then again they weren’t battle partners, so maybe it would if they were. That hushed his blush and sent his thoughts dipping downwards.    
  
“You know if you hadn’t arrived to stop those pirates, this place would be overrun with far too many monsters for just you two to handle,” the king commented. Even cracked, the presence of the Ruby Pure Heart still warded off bad things, just with lesser range and strength. If it had been taken away completely, the king might’ve needed to enlist help from surrounding kingdoms, some of which were far flung enough for him not to have visited in years. Just in case something else went amiss, he had feverishly drummed up friendly relations again with his contacts. They seemed unperturbed enough and not offended by his absence. But he did lie awake at night worrying about all of it sometimes.    
  
Caught up in his own thoughts for the past few minutes, he hadn’t noticed that the smaller cat had buried his head deeply into his arms.

“Sheriff?”   


The smaller cat sobbed quietly, just once. The king’s own breath caught in his throat, and he was torn on whether to withdraw his grasp, which he mentally thought would fit the situation better, or wrap his arms around his little chest, which he desperately _ wanted _ to do.    
  
Mao made the decision for him. He stood roughly, and swiped at the big paws, prompting the king to drop his arms.    
  
“I’m sorry,” the king said again, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked about your tail- It’s OK. Whatever you’re feeling-”   
  
“Why,” the green eyes were glassy. But he did not give in to crying.    
  
“Why . . . what?” I shouldn’t have let my curiosity get the better of me, he thought to himself. “I hope you can look past an old lion’s impudence,” he implored sincerely.    
  
“Why,” Mao repeated faintly.    
  
“I was only . . . well I’d  _ like _ to tell you I was asking for safety reasons but that was unfortunately an afterthought, to be forthright with it-”

“Why . . .” Mao blinked.    
  
Finally the king just shut his mouth. Sometimes silence was the better part of valor than continuing to babble. 

“Why . . .” the black cat wrung his gloves, ears slowly and agonizingly going from vertical, to forty-five degrees, to ninety, and then even pressed down to his shoulders.    
  
“Why aren’t you angry at me?”    
  
“Wh- what?” 

Mao knelt and bowed, but in a way that was somehow more demeaning than his usual one. He visibly shook at the king’s feet. 

Now it was the king’s turn to ask, “Why-” he tilted his head. “Why would I be angry at you?”    
  
Seeing that little black body without the sweeping cape, and plainly displaying the severed tail, made sadness squeeze at the lion’s heart. He didn’t know what was going on, but he would make it right and he would reassure his . . . knight.    
  
“I damaged the Ruby Pure Heart.” His voice cracked. “I’ve completely **_ruined_ ** your peaceable kingdom that  _ remained unchanged for so many generations of your glorious ancestors. _ ” That line coming from the normal Mao might’ve sounded a little bit pompous and overblown, but coming from this one, breathless, crushed by guilt, it came across as reverent and respectful as the little cat would always intend it to be. 

“Oh Mao Mao,” the king said sweetly, “Is _ that _ what’s been weighing on your heart? Why your usual spunk has sputtered,” he lilted. 

He was met by a disbelieving look at his flippancy.    
  
Time for that hug, reservations be dashed.    
  
He easily lifted the small cat up to his feet. In a reversal, the king knelt. “My dear sheriff, you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t _ mean _ to.”    
  
“B-but-” he stammered out- “I should’ve grilled that stupid pirate. I should’ve found out more. I was so caught up in glory I wasn’t thinking about knowing how it all worked- the magic he was after I mean- I’d have known to be careful flying around, I should've- I should’ve-”

“No,” the king wrapped his arms around him and murmured in his ear. “You’re fine. Everything’s fine. I promise. I’m not harboring some secret grudge against you either, if that’s what you think. Some aristocracy can be sweet but duplicitous, I know firsthand and-”   
  
At that the little cat in his grasp gave a small gasp of relief, and sagged into his chest. “Th-thank you my liege. Your benevolence truly knows no bounds and I’m so, so glad the songs the sweetie pies sing about it are so, so, wonderfully true,” he choked out, “I kept doubting . . . I thought m-maybe they exaggerated or just use rose-tinted glasses so much like they do with _ everything _ but . . . you really . . .” he hugged the older, bigger cat with his steely strength. 

His arms barely even rounded half of the barrel-chested lion. 

As if just realizing it, Mao hastily added, “Your Majesty, don’t kneel to me, that’s not proper! Well I mean maybe this isn’t either, but you . . .”   
  
The king chuckled, cutting him off. “Oh you, don’t be silly.”   
  
He pulled back to see Mao’s thin, strained smile.    
  
The idea that he had been privately terrified all this time that the king hated him . . . Maybe others had turned on him after being nice before- the lion was reminded of the incident where the smooth-talking fox had manipulated the young girl under Mao’s care and then revealed himself to be the hateful ruffian he really was . . . Yes, the royal could put on airs and get along with people he despised with the best of them should his position require it, but  **_this_ ** . . . it was  _ simply awful. _ It definitely called for more praise, not that the king needed much prompting for that. “You do such a splendid job rescuing everyone! They just don’t know _ how to act _ around you because we  _ used _ not to tell many stories of warriors or battles. The legends about all of us were of a tranquil, impossibly pristine place. And we lived up to it. I’m sorry they don’t appreciate you enough. They-” he suppressed a small growl- “They’re ungrateful.”   


“Sometimes,” Mao shrugged, but the king could tell it bothered him.. “Yes, visitors do pay me a lot more respect.”

On his many travails over the decade or more, he must’ve had people falling at his feet! Adjusting to a place where everyone saw him every day and took him for granted . . . it made the king both irritated and a little dejected. Maybe Mao didn’t like it here. Maybe this wasn’t . . . maybe this wasn’t the place for him.    
  
“Ironic, isn’t it, that your strength is what caused this situation.”   
  
Mao tilted his head, again very cute even though he wasn’t doing it for that reason. “No, you’ve got it wrong Your Majesty, it wasn’t my weapon that damaged it- I ran into it with my bike.”    
  
The king tittered, paw to his mouth. “Oh ho ho, my dear sheriff. A simple impact couldn’t possibly do THAT to such a mystical-magnitude artifact! The speed you were going certainly had a _ little _ to do with the mishap, but it’s your  _ magic _ that packed such a wallop!”

The samurai’s reaction was immediate, and even more devastated than before.

How could he not know this? 

A creature of his size couldn’t send monstrous behemoths careening through the sky on sheer brute physical force, and the magical, many-times-multiplied strength, he thought it would be obvious, radiated around him. The king didn’t have the gift of magic, as Mao’s clan did, but he was educated. He  _ knew _ plenty.    


“Mao,” the king said seriously, “Now I know you’d prefer that not be part of the story people told about you. But trust me, I’ve hob knobbed with the greatest sorcerers in many lands- Chamile is nice and all but she’s nothing compared to them- and I tell you, those circles would be downright  **_awed_ ** at the ability to crack the legendary Ruby Pure Heart. Without even trying!! Is it  _ unfortunate  _ your power resulted in this? Sure. But in a certain way, it’s also darned **_impressive_ ** .”    
  
He could tell that Mao was going to have to take some time to process this revelation. Utter shock rooted him in place. Then, redoubled guilt plainly splashed across his face. Pride trailed in last, but the other two still warred for a space. 


	3. Hands

One day, Mao stormed into their meeting with green sparks in his eyes. 

He didn’t even wait for the king to ask the question. “Badgerclops has been having mechanical trouble with his arm. It’s strewn cotton candy  _ all over the house _ , which wouldn’t have been  _ that  _ bad if his sprinkler hadn’t afterwards decided to malfunction! I had told him to  _ take it off _ and keep it in the workshop until he could sort it out, but he refused! It can’t be turned all the way off as long as it’s attached in its housing- I mean I wouldn’t  _ want _ it to be anyway because it guards us while we’re sleeping- but he wouldn’t, and now every bit of sugar needs to be scrubbed off the walls and the entire carpet replaced!”    
  
“We can get some servants sent over to help-” the king started-

Mao laughed malevolently in resounding baritone. “Oh no, Your Majesty, he’s going to do it **_all_ ** himself!!”   
  
“And how has that been going for you?” 

The cat glowered.    
  
“Yes, that’s what we thought.” The king rolled his eyes. He was impressed with himself for concealing the reaction to the dark, skin-tingling laughter. If Mao ever decided to be a villain the king wouldn’t mind being taken captive for ransom one jot. “If you don’t mind our saying so, how you get that lazy lug to do  _ anything  _ is beyond us.” 

“Ain’t that the truth.” Mao plopped down, ripping off his cloak. “He’s a great co-hero, don’t get me wrong but sometimes . . . ” he trailed off.    
  
“Hm, that’s an interesting term . . . co-hero.” 

“Yeah, he made it up. I think it suits us. I used to think of him as a sidekick. Guess that wasn’t very good of me.”    
  
The king raised an eyebrow. “Why would that be a  _ bad _ thing? And no one else calls him the co-‘sheriff’. We appointed  _ you, _ not him, and we’ve heard not one word about it.” He was getting a bit more animated. “He **_is_ ** the sidekick. I mean. Mao. Honestly.  _ You’re a dragon slayer _ . A magic wielder. If he didn’t have the  _ misfortune _ of losing a limb, where would he be?” the aristocrat said snootily. “What, does it hurt his ego?” He fluffed his mane. “There is only one top spot, in government or in business. At each level. Tough titmouse for anyone who has a problem with that.” 

“Mmmm, titmouse. I could go for a bird right now.”    
  
“We have a wide selection of-”   
  
“No, Your Majesty. A wild bird.”   
  
“. . . Oh. The kind of craving for a chase . . . not so much the taste.” The king hummed. “That’s what father used to say at least.”    
  
“Right you are.” He winked, and the king giggled. “I’ll get one later. I’m here for . . . well our meeting, sure, but I honestly don’t have much to cover this week. I know this is a different sort of stress than I usually have but . . . ?”   
  
“As if it mattered for massages, my dear boy.” He put a paw on his crimson-furred chest and summoned his best sassy tone. “A  _ masseuse _ does not  _ grill _ his clientelle on the source of their stress. They just get to work.” He interlaced his hands and stretched them above his head.    
  
“That’s more of a therapist’s bag,” the cat grumbled. 

He stared down at the floor and the king was sure he’d burn a hole through it, had his particular magical gifts leaned that way. Was he detecting some resentment towards the little blue dog that Mao visited regularly? Should he even ask? Especially since the cat was in such a mood.

The dog, the king was very sure, did not ‘grill’ anyone. He had known the soft spoken, slightly somber spotted canine for a very long time. But to  _ Mao _ , any question he didn’t like was tantamount to ‘grilling.’ 

The dog had a simply _ huge _ influx of demand since the cracking of the Ruby Pure Heart. The ruler first had heard he was trying to set up instructional courses for others. The canine later even requested the king bring in educators or those looking for work, if he heard of any. Progress was slow but they had sent out feelers.    
  
“About the sidekick thing . . . There’s a part of me that wants to agree with you . . . but . . .” the cat sighed. “I have to admit our dynamic has improved with that understanding. He still gets under my skin, rrrrrrrr, but I’ll get over it.” 

“Maybe something a bit different would help more.” The king tugged gently up on an elbow to get him to stand. He leaned in and touched his forehead to Mao’s, a feline greeting that he hoped was universal enough to extend to the little warrior’s far flung homeland culture. After a moment’s hesitation, the smaller cat rubbed his cheek along his eyebrow. And to the king’s delight, kept at it until his head was under the lion’s chin, ears on either side of his face.    
  
“Wow that . . . really brings back memories,” the samurai said softly.    
  
“Want to share?” the king asked.    
  
He pulled back. The green eyes flicked up to him and away. 

A long enough silence passed that the king wordlessly pulled back the chair again.    
  
He made little circles. How the cat could be  _ this _ much tenser from a spat with his roomate than fighting vicious monsters was truly beyond the pale to the pale lion. But maybe whatever memories he had brought to the surface hadn’t been all good ones, either. He let all speculating drop and just concentrated on the cat’s biceps. The samurai made a motion as if to take off his gloves, so the king lifted his own paws. “No, don’t stop.”    
  
“All right,” and predictably the king’s head was filled with lots of  _ other  _ uses of that oblivious, carelessly tossed out phrase. He placed his paws back on the arms and it was neat to feel the muscles doing a light task even as they were rubbed. The little black paws that emerged were so  _ widdle and wiggly _ as Mao worked them to tense and then relax . . . the king had to resist the urge to gush over them. Instances where the warrior had shouted at the top of his lungs “I’M NOT CUTE!” to many a sweetie pie rang in the king’s head. 

The king always did his best to respect the cat’s feelings on the matter, and not coo over him. He had met many families of ‘pretty’ animals in his visitations that felt the same way. Some people just wanted to be appreciated for things other than looks. Craftsmanship, physical grace, education, even social savvy. Warriorhood was just another to add to the list. So even though the sweetie pies, the common folk, tended to not understand why sincere compliments were not taken well, the king at least had experience, even if he disagreed with the other cultures’ outlooks. Looks weren’t bad, as long as attention to other things did not atrophy because of it. So he refrained. Even though he was sorely tempted on the regular. 

The cat’s sensitivity to his perceived size truly permeated all aspects of his life. The competition in which he had taken off his gloves and caused a miniature explosion just by sheer force of will made the king, ironically, not recall his irritation at the time, but reflect in general. He could not stop marveling at how he truly was such a force to be reckoned with. All contained within such tiny paws. 

“That’s a neat trick, by the way.”    
  
“My gloved hands?” Mao asked.    
  
“Yes, who taught you to project hardened ether to increase your dexterity?”

“My eldest sister. She-”   
  
But again, he clammed up. 

The lion suppressed a sigh. He worked his way back up the smaller cat’s arms, then at least permitted himself to give into the urge to rub his nose into the cat’s cheek. The troubled warrior accepted the comfort, twisting his head a little in reciprocation. 

As the lion straightened again, and moved onto his neck, the sheriff craned his head back until he was looking at the king upside down. Wanting to squeal at the absolute cuteness, the bubbly royal instead cleared his throat pitchily. The cat didn’t look bothered, per se, but he didn’t look quite at ease, either. 

“Sorry, too much?” the king asked, praying the answer was ‘No.’

Mao blinked. Then he studied him more intently.    
  
He squirmed a bit under the scrutiny. Silently the king sort of wished that the cat would work out the royal’s designs on him so he wouldn’t have to say it aloud. He was sharp. Surely he would eventually . . .   
  
And yet, a fair bit of physical affection was normal for felines. Even, it appeared, for exotic, hardboiled warrior cats not raised in a sugary paradise. 

“Do you want to know a secret?” Mao finally said.    
  
It made the king’s heart skip a beat, but best not to get his hopes up.    
  
Even though he wanted to burst out ‘yes, yes, yes of course!’

He simply nodded.    
  
“I got the material for these gloves on a quest. It was rumored to be woven from the mane of a legendary dragon who had been slain centuries ago. When I finally was victorious, I had no idea what to make it into. How do you decide that sort of thing?? Especially after going through so many trials for it, and because there was so little of it.”   
  
He paused. “At the very least I knew my whole wardrobe was going to have to change to match it.” He smiled reminiscently. “No more apprentice green for me. Luckily a sorcerer I met later suggested I use them to augment the ether projecting and have more magic left over for fighting. I haven’t told anyone in my family yet. It’s sort of-” he righted himself on the chair and his voice trembled just a little. “S-some of them don’t use the ether technique at all. I’m afraid they’d see it as just more of a  _ crutch. _ ” 

If this little cat was such a titan, he could scarcely imagine what the rest of his family must be like for him to be looked down on. 

It was actually sort of  **_terrifying_ ** . 

“Well we don’t know about your family,” Snugglemagne said gingerly. “We’d like to reassure you that they wouldn’t, but we can’t make that call. However. Your apprentice. You wouldn’t look down on her for using her peg leg, would you?”   
  
“Of course not.”    
  
“Then even if it were a crutch- not saying it is- wizards use staffs and amulets and any number of assorted things to help them- but even if it were a crutch, it would be wrong of anyone, magic user or not, to look down on you for it.”

“I doubt an average person would even understand it anyway.” he said, a bit haughtily. “It’s the clan I’m worried about.”    
  
“Well that is your choice,” the king nodded. “I wasn’t even saying you have to inform  _ everyone _ of your magic ins and outs. Not even your family, if you didn’t want to.”    
  
Mao clenched his paws.    
  
“And on that topic . . .” the king resumed his attentions, “perhaps you’re being a bit harsh on that cyborg fellow of yours, too. You don’t like it when your hands are revealed as shorter, correct?”   
  
Mao only grunted.

As soon as the gloves came off, the lion supposed he didn't bother with keeping the ether activated, right? Of course, it was an effect that a non-magic animal couldn't see. He wasn't sure if wielders could or not. Hadn't he read perhaps that it varied between them? Yes, that sounded about right. It must've been useful for other things rather than using his sword, obviously, so maybe he did keep it passively activated all the time. 

In any case, he did think he was being unfair to the badger.    
  
“Well imagine how it must feel to have your  _ entire limb _ taken away for a sizable period of time.”    
  
“It’s not his real arm,” Mao protested. 

“Semantics, sheriff. It  **_is_ ** his arm to  _ him. _ ” 

He sulked. 

“Do those not feel like your  _ real _ fingers?” the lion asked. “Especially with the added visual of the fabric.”    
  
No reply.    
  
The king must’ve been feeling pretty daring, because despite the lack of positive response, or even neutral response, he laid one of his huge paws on top of the smaller one. “Can you show me?”    
  
Knowing he was risking the sheriff throwing it off, storming back out exactly the same way he came, he waited. This was important enough to press him about. 

Unable to see the digits completely engulfed in his own, and knowing that the effect would be invisible regardless, he focused on the sensation of the fingers lengthening and tapering. 

“Seem pretty real to me. They certainly inflict very  _ real _ casualties on monsters,” the king teased lightly.    
  
“Heh.”

And with that one syllable, it seemed the tide of the conversation had turned and he had finally polished off the cat’s resistance like a good cloth scrubbing of fine silver to remove tarnish. 

A well-placed compliment did wonders, the aristocrat thought. His mother had taught him well. And yes perhaps it was a bit … odd … that to defrost the hardened dark cat, an appeal to violence had to be made … but he was learning how to handle him. He hoped, well enough to parlay into- 

Mao slipped his hand out from under the king’s, much to the older cat’s chagrin. The ends were . . . dainty, he realized with a slight flutter of his heart.    
  
“And even sword masters I’ve trained with say to mentally  _ merge _ with the sword as an  _ extension  _ of the arm,” the smaller cat said pensively, turning his palm over. The king thought he could see just a slight shimmer where the five little extensions ended. “To think of it that way, to act that way. And a sword is not even  _ replacing _ anything.”    
  
Satisfied at least that had gotten through, the king kneaded more, but this time around the black covered sinew didn’t seem to have reached its normal softness before Mao abruptly stood.    
  
“Sorry, keep thinking about that bird,” he said gruffly.    
  
Maybe sometimes pent up frustration simply had to be dealt with other ways, the king thought to himself, trying not to let his feelings be hurt too much. 

“We must admit we haven’t done that for  _ ages! _ Gone too soft, we suppose. You must think us unexciting.” Some animals could be quite uppity about it, and he fully expected a feline so fearsome in many other ways might snub him. Perhaps at least he would conceal it or downplay it. 

“B.C. tends to like food that doesn’t fight back, delivered on a platter.” The adventurer said tightly and rolled his eyes as he yanked his gloves on, then considered for a moment, and took them back off. Claws would need to come out soon anyway. The king’s heart sank a little at the thought of his own filed claws. Maybe the palace-raised lion couldn’t measure up to the daring cat’s lifestyle. “Even though other badgers I’ve met are really into it, he never much liked the old fashioned way. Tch.” 

Perhaps it was too much to expect for him to hold back his opinions. He was not one to overly fret about other peoples’ feelings, unfortunately. 

The green eyes caught him like a trap. Or maybe like that set of said claws. Straight into his chest. 

“When we’re out roughing it and he’s bellyaching-  _ That’s _ what really annoys me. You may be pampered, but that’s no fault of your own.” He tripped over himself, “A-And I don’t even mean to say ‘fault’ really. Not the right word. If I held it against you, it’d have to go double or triple for him. His preferences when it’s not necessary aren’t so big a deal. Animals who simply don’t partake, for  _ any _ reason- rich or poor, because they think it’s uncivilized, or because they don’t like gamey taste, or they’re lazy like my big butter-ball badger, whatever other hangups may present themselves . . . it doesn’t bother me much. Never has.” the cat added kindly. 

Relief washed over the bigger cat.

The uncommon warmth in his voice was like digging into a good hot meal, the lion thought. 

“Could I possibly . . . join you on your hunt?” he asked somewhat shyly, slipping into first person.    
  
Mao blinked. “Uh. Maybe we could schedule one later. I need some … time to think to myself. Sorry.” 

Then the black feline gave a smirk that the king found enthralling. “Just try not to get in my way. You do  _ not _ want to get between me and my prey.”   
  
“Maybe I’ll just watch?” the lion offered.    
  
“Might be a good idea,” the samurai nodded. “Lions may be group hunters, My Lord, but cats, well-”

“Lone rangers.” 

The Eastern, not Western, sheriff nodded. 


	4. Experiment

One of the next times he arrived, the martial artist looked pensive. 

“Having a good day?” Snugglemagne asked. 

“Actually, yes, I have. May not even need any attention today,” he joked. 

“Oh well, I’m glad to hear that, I guess,” even though he wasn’t glad to hear it. The king laughed weakly. No point in concealing his disappointment, right? 

Picking up on that, the cat asked, “You don’t want a break, maybe?” he smiled, “I haven’t been working you too hard?” 

The king drew himself up in mock-affront. “I don’t work out furiously just to be put off by kneading the strongest being in Pure Heart Valley.” 

Mao laughed. “I mean, you’re not kneading any magic. That’s where most of my strength comes from. The muscles themselves shouldn’t be much trouble.” He rubbed his chin speculatively. “Wouldn’t it take much more doing for you to massage someone more physically imposing like yourself?” 

If he was perfectly honest, the king had gotten hand cramps occasionally. The straightforward strength needed to merely lift was entirely different from the little repetitive, constant movements needed to knead. But he wasn’t about to tell the sheriff that. Too much pride. 

And he couldn’t _imagine_ tackling someone like _himself._ Maybe he should give Quinton a raise. 

“You’re using the first person,” the cat observed.   
  
“Oh, yes, I am, aren’t I?” the king twiddled his thumbs. “I guess you were just so relaxed coming in, it rubbed off on me. Maybe I should just do away with that, yes? We’re on close enough terms.”

“Sounds good to me. Since we’ve been doing this, I’ve noticed a difference in my meditations,” Mao told him. “It’s actually sort of interesting because I wonder if we stopped altogether, would I slide back to where I was before mentally? Or has this given me a permanent boost?” 

The king discreetly clenched his teeth. He didn’t like where that train of thought was going. 

If they had officially been partners, Mao wouldn’t have suggested stopping. Right? Or…? Was this part of some Mao clan training goals, or just him poking around his own head just because? 

He never much liked the idea of meditation himself. Seemed dreadfully boring. But he had enough discretion not to say that. He felt sorry for people like the badger, who seemed to just blurt out whatever thought came to mind, even if it turned out awkward or unintentionally insensitive. 

The idea of Mao refusing his touch, that hurt him, but he had no right to insist. Even if they **_had_ ** been partners, that was true. 

But, it would at least have given him a reason to make his case. 

Maybe this was just what he got for being a coward, he thought dejectedly. 

Mao stepped forward and put his forehead to the king’s. “I do still really like this, though,” the cat said softly. “Maybe we could try one without the other, switch off, everything.” 

Though he knew the cat wasn’t intentionally playing with his heart, he still felt like it was being batted around like a cat toy. He enjoyed the head rubbing at least. 

“May I . . .” Mao swallowed, and looked up at him, shifting back and forth, suddenly awkward though he had been adjusting to this newly introduced contact well. 

“May I purr?”   
  
“Oh deary me, you don’t have to ask _my permission_ for **that**. How **_ever_ ** did I give you the impression I was _that_ strict?” the king fretted. 

“It’s only good manners,” the cat mumbled. “I thought you’d . . . appreciate that.” He sounded disappointed.

“Oh that may be how your family from the East sees things,” the king said, “But around here I’m not even positive most cats _can_ consciously suppress it. It’s _certainly_ not something they drill into their children, that’s for sure.”

“ _Don’t insult my family._ ”   
  
The words dropped on him like pounds of lead.   
  
He parted his mouth to protest that’s **_not_ ** how he meant it _at all_ , but no sound came out. He was panicking. He had wrecked _everything_. Mao was _incredibly_ invested in family ties and tradition. All his sensitivity training, and all his meetings with other kingdoms, and yet here he was making such a _stupid_ blunder of phrasing! To someone so important both to his realm _and_ personally! _What kind of king was he?_ Tears pricked at the back of his eyes. His chest felt like it was refusing air. 

Before the lion had time to unfreeze, the cat had used his impossible swiftness to make it right out the door. 

* * *

The king deliberated about what to do. It seemed a bad idea to simply wait for next week, when the cat would feel obligated to return by duty.   
  
At the same time, it also seemed foolhardy just _showing up_ to his house, when the last time the lion had imposed upon him and his two roomates had made them uncomfortable, and also resulted in the cat yelling at him, even if it had all worked out in the end. The precedent set for the king’s visits was not good. 

He called for Quinton and asked him to check if Blue was available. 

The bird returned with the blue dog. 

“Hello,” the king said brightly. “Good to see you, old friend.” 

He inclined his head. “Hello, Your Majesty.”   
  
“Well I hate to bother you,” the gentleman said graciously. He had long since used the first person for the dog. “But I’ve run into a spot of trouble.”   
  
“Not your best work, your Majesty.”   
  
“Hm? What do you mean?” The king hadn’t told Quinton what the problem was. 

“Oh, did you not intend to pun on ‘spot’,” the dog asked, indicating his own darker navy colored patches.   
  
The king chuckled, “No, no.”   
  
The dog shrugged. “All right. What’s the issue?”   
  
The lion explained what had happened. The dog couldn’t perk his floppy ears, but he was clearly focused nonetheless. The lion felt better just having an ear to listen that was as sensitive and mentally thorough as the degree-holding dog.   
  
When he was done, he added, “Mao has always been . . . a bit bristly _in general,_ really. He’s conversational enough, most days, but when anything personally upsetting comes up, he totally shuts down.”   
  
The dog nodded. “Believe it or not, he’s the same way, even in therapy. I get the feeling that his initial visit was, by circumstances, sort of ‘forced’ out of him, you know? That’s never a good foot to get off on. People who have emotional crises are sometimes more reluctant, because they’re embarrassed. Either because of the break in behavior, or because their family talks them into it, and it doesn’t **_feel_ **like one hundred percent their decision. I don’t know if it would have been better if he had freely chosen to try sessions himself, and it doesn’t ultimately matter because we can’t change the past, but I can’t help wondering.”

“Well, he is pretty _prideful_ person, too,” the lion said. “Which, you know, I’m not trying to insult him that way, either. I know plenty of nobles who are **_far_ ** more on the self-absorbed end than he is! And objectively, they have less to be egoistic _about!_ Can **_they_ ** slay a dragon without batting an eye?” the lion snickered. 

The dog took another minute to think about the king’s problem.  
  
"That definitely is odd," he said, "Consciously controlling purring. I've obviously heard of _many_ iterations of people suppressing emotions," the therapist indicated, "but that just seems . . . **_particularly_ **troubling? Maybe it's not that difficult? I have no idea, since I can't do it."

"Me neither," the lion said.   
  
"Oh really?" Blue blinked. "But you're a cat, too. Can only cats his size do it?"  
  
"The subfamily of big cats like myself, Patherinae, cannot do it. Except for cheetahs. The other two subfamilies and all their genuses can, as far as I know. The anatomy of a cat's mouth can either be dedicated to roaring, or purring. It cannot do both."  
  
"Huh, that's interesting."  
  
The lion honestly would've _much preferred_ purring. It was so cute! The effeminate man liked the idea. He even envied Mao, he reflected. Blue knew this about the king: roaring was an emotionally complicated topic for him.   
  
“We’re having another session well before your next meeting. Do you want me to just talk to him about it?”   
  
The noble grimaced. “I’d hate to impose on you that way, my friend.” 

“It’s no trouble,” the calm dog said, with a smile.


	5. Intervention

Author’s Notes: This chapter may need to be retconned if we get to see more of Badgerclops’ backstory. 

* * *

Unexpectedly, Mao showed up before his session with Blue.    
  
The badger had apparently prodded the cat into going back to the king a few days later. After the king had spent the nights fretting, it was both good and bad to see his angry expression. 

“First you called my family  _ wrong  _ for having an opinion on my  _ gloves _ , then you advised me to  _ keep secrets from them! _ ” The cat looked like he was on the verge of hissing.    
  
That shocked the lion. He hadn’t realized that this went beyond just his accidental statement. Mao had been  _ harboring resentment _ for the king ever since he had talked to him about the dragon mane thread gloves! Was this why he had reacted so strongly: the ice-eyed lion had already  _ been _ on thin ice, not knowing it? There was a lot more to detangle here.    
  
“Whoa now, hold up, I didn’t hear about any of _ that, _ ” the badger objected. “Just the purring thing! I wanted to be prepared going into this.” Looks like he had exactly the same problem.    
  
“...Wait, wait, sorry Snugglemagne, we’re gonna have to regroup I think ...” 

He put a hand lightly on Mao’s back and tried to usher him from the room. Mao slapped his paw down and turned of his own accord. 

“ _ Don’t push me! _ ” 

Yanking his hand further away he said, “All right all right, Jeez Mao Mao, take a chill pill.” 

“You know I  _ absolutely hate that! _ ” 

“I also know you’re being a _ total jerk _ to a guy who admires you a lot,” he shot back. 

The look Mao shoved over his shoulder suggested he hadn't listened to  _ one word _ the chubby animal had said. 

“You’re the one who insisted on coming.” 

“Yeah because I thought you had told me everything. But you didn’t! I just want to have a handle on the situation, why can’t you-“

“WHY WOULD YOU THINK YOU COULD UNDERSTAND!” the cat yelled, “YOU BARELY TALK TO YOUR FAMILY AND THEY’RE A BUNCH OF LAIDBACK NOBODY LABORERS!” 

Mao disappeared from the doorway, leaving the badger beginning to blubber.  The king trotted over to him. “Oh my, that was so out of line!! Come here poor thing, you can sit down.” 

“N-no, I o-only came here to help Mao Mao, I d-don’t want to bother you- I mean-” the insecure animal started- 

“Nonsense!” The king said. “You are just as welcome here as he is, my good man.” 

“I dunno, I can just head home, really.” 

“No royal quality comfort food could help?” the king said mock-innocently. 

“Uh,” the big bear-like animal licked his sharp teeth, “well maybe a bite or two couldn’t hurt.” 

“QUINTON!” the lion screeched, making the large badger jump. 

“Sorry, did I startle you?” 

“I guess it’s just … like, most lions roar when they yell so … it’s weird to hear …” he clamped his mouth shut. “Whoa. Gosh. I’m sorry, that’s probably really insulting. Stupid me.” He chastised himself, looking down. “Just as usual, ruining everything . . .”    
  
“Nonsense, it’s fine. You didn’t mean to make fun.” The royal neatly sidestepped the half-question. It was implicit the badger thought, ‘well, why  _ don’t _ you roar?’ which he didn’t feel like addressing at the moment. “Met a lot of lions, have you?” 

“Uh?” the badger sheepishly poked his forefingers together. “I mean, no more than other animals I suppose…?” but then he smiled. “Mao Mao was really obsessed with them for a while. I mean, tigers too! Any  _ big _ cat. Makes sense, right, with his obsession with size . . . We’d land in a new city and he’d hit the pubs, endlessly quiz them about their lives back in their hometowns. Sometimes I’d fall asleep for a nap and they’d still be at it! And, and,” he looked eager to continue, but hesitated. Did the king spy a twinkle in his eye? 

“What?” 

The badger rubbed his chin. “I think Mao Mao should be the one to talk to you about this, honestly. I would swap stories with you but I think he’d take it personally.” His face fell. “Maybe he’d be irritated that I even said  _ that, _ ” he waved his arms. “Ugh he’s so _ difficult!! _ I’m not even sure you should bring that up, especially since you two are fighting right now.” 

The lion put a paw to his chest. “I am not  _ fighting _ anyone. I misspoke and I only wish to make up for it.” 

“Really glad to hear that.” He seemed to un-tense. “Yeah I had a huge hunch it was like that. You’re so nice. It’s Mao Mao that has the annoying issues.” 

The battle partner grimaced. 

“Uh, I mean, uh, maybe I’m supposed to be ‘on his side’ since he’s my best friend …” 

“You’re not being ‘disloyal’ for disagreeing with how he’s acting,” the lion reassured him. 

He rubbed his neck. “I have supported him before even though I knew full well he was in the wrong.”

“Well sometimes it does go that way. I have a lot more incentive than you, but still.” 

“You mean taking Mao Mao’s side? Against who? His family?”

“No, no. It’s too early to even begin to parse that relationship. And. That’s ‘whom’,” the royal corrected. 

“Ugggghhh come on,” he pouted. “It took me  _ nearly half a year _ to break Mao Mao of _ doing that! _ ” 

The lion laughed. 

Once the effeminate effervescent tenor notes of amusement had subsided, he thought about it some more.  He had noticed that Mao seemed to drift in and out of high class and rougher vernacular.  Maybe the lion’s influence would help the ailing language recover.  Or, he reflected, maybe he himself should just try to bend more to allow things. 

He just didn’t want to slip out of good elocution himself, though.

One grammar mistake could make people descend on you like locusts when you were in an important debate with an opponent, a noble or royal who may have nefarious motivations. 

He didn’t expect the badger to live up to those standards, by any means!! But a small surge of worry did cross him that the badger would rub off on him.

Scrubbing away someone’s mental influence was not as simple a matter as taking a shower. 

Other versions of this ‘sticky’ effect of being around other people were pleasant.  It was actually fun when the lion would visit other countries for a couple months, and come back with a hint of an accent, or a few new colloquial terms clinging to his sentences like stray children holding their mothers’ skirts. 

But the badger, sort of like a visitor to the Valley, was a different matter. 

He hated to be mentally rude. But, it was different for the _ king _ than the average citizen. Even snobby ones! The consequences would be different. In fact, if, say, the highly educated Blue acted that way around the badger, the lion might tut-tut at him. 

He doubted that was the case, though. Blue served everyone of every bracket of society, and had taken sociolinguistics, which explicitly taught that labeling anything ‘bad’ diction was a form of prejudice. 

The king understood all of that. 

It was just … that there was no magical sieve he could use to strain out the badger’s influence. 

Simple as that. 

He didn’t hate him, and he tried very hard not to look down on people like him, though the habits his parents had programmed into the lion were pretty deeply ingrained.

“So, back to the point. Who are you taking sides against?” he asked again, when the lion hadn’t responded. 

“I’m a diplomat,” the king said simply. “I join whomsoever is on the side of justice, as I see it. And sometimes, that involves forging alliances with people you don’t like very much, simply because you need their position and support. Or recruiting allies whom you disagree with on certain things, but agree enough on others.” 

“Ah, I see. Kinda like a blown up version of me and Mao. There’s a ton of stuff we don’t see eye to eye on. But we’re best buddies regardless.”

Honestly the phrase sounded childish to the lion, but again, he was aware he was programmed to think that way.  Just because a full grown man used the terms, well, who was he to judge that?

The battle-tested soldier and his cyborg partner almost deserved more weighty terms just to bring home the magnitude of what they did, though, didn’t they? Slaying dragons was not a simple nor easy affair, no matter how jokingly they talked and reminisced about it. 

Mao’s warrior family had trained him up  _ since childhood _ to face them! 

And the lion had no clue at all how long it took to become proficient with the prosthetic equipment. But, he did gather from what they talked about that their apprentice did  _ completely crash and burn _ the first time she had tried something similar. 

So, it was not simple. For all he knew, the badger may himself have put in years and years!

You sat sipping tea or played cricket with a ‘buddy.’ 

Someone you trusted with your literal life, now that was something entirely different …! 

The lion was tempted to use the word ‘comrade’ but that had political implications which were best addressed in the debate rooms.

‘Ally’ was better perhaps, but also seemed too impersonal. 

Maybe he should just let the badger have his words.

Ah!

Duo.

Perfect. 

The Dynamic Dragon Duo. 

The Terrible Titan Team!

“Hey, uh, Snug, I mean, I guess, Your Majesty? You still with me? Did you space out again?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry.”

“Ha. Not like I have room to talk. Mao Mao has to keep me on task a lot of the time.”

He shared with the badger his conclusions, and the animal rubbed his chin. “Not half bad, your kindly kinglyness, but for ‘Duo,’ what about Adorabat?”

“Is she really part of that yet?” the king asked. “I mean, the ‘Three Musketeers’ still had a fourth member who hadn’t reached past apprentice level you know.” 

“Yeah, I getcha! But, uh, don’t say that to her, ok? It would hurt her feelings.” 

“Oh, I very much understand,” the king nodded. “I keep far more secrets as a royal than merely my idle, possibly awkward opinions.” 

Including the opinion that you, yourself are a sidekick to the immensely powerful wielder, the lion thought to himself.  Other nobles might think these ‘tiers’ more significant than he himself did, and justified different treatment, but, he merely recognized and validated their existence, and didn’t act on them.  It was sheer good luck Mao hadn’t landed in some other province. Other royalty and nobility wouldn’t keep that to themselves, no matter whom he took on as an apprentice. And a clan such as the Mao, associating with a commoner like the badger? They’d both be in for rough treatment. Mao, because he was sullying his ‘name,’ and the badger more directly. In fact, they probably already had to, in the past, jump through such hoops. 

He imagined them facing down nobles as they would dragons, sticking through thick and thin. 

He smiled.

His knight protected the badger from unkind words too, he was sure. 

So, he layered all of that on top of the tier understanding, nestling it safely in his chest. No matter what he thought, his big heart was a safe cage for stray thoughts about status. 

“And speaking of secrets, I appreciate your earlier concern about sharing the lion and the tiger matter. I have plenty of discretion, for all things, but especially when it comes to your friend. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

“I just want this to be right again.” 

Maybe it didn’t bode well for either their professional, personal, or _ more  _ personal life that they had to rely on a go-between such as Blue or the badger to patch things up, the lion wondered to himself. 

Still, maybe it was just a matter of waiting him out. The badger wanted everything to be fixed as soon as it could be, but maybe that just wasn’t how Mao worked. 

The ice-eyed king was admittedly  **_totally_ ** _ out of his element. _ Even with his vast experience with social interactions . . . and endless boyhood training in social etiquette, even . . . the people lazing around mansions, in the surrounding territories, that he usually associated with . . . None of them were  **_nearly_ ** explosive as the samurai. 

Either way, he vowed to try to stop referring to the badger as ‘the lazy one’ in his head. That was unfair to someone who, too, clearly had such a big heart. 

When he had the food delivered, the badger greedily dug in, talking with his mouth full the whole while. The king decided not to look right at him, because he’d be darned if he’d let his revulsion for the bad table manners reverse the spirit for his earlier inner vow. 

“When me and Mao Mao-“ 

‘Mao and I’ the king’s mind supplied.

But he waved it off this time.

“- first met, he talked to me constantly about how it was so awesome that I now wanted to make more of myself than my ‘legacy’ indicated for … And I mean it was a compliment, and he _ sincerely means _ it that way! But ultimately it still comes off as … backhanded, ya know?” 

The king nodded. 

“He’s made a little bit of progress with his dad, but that doesn’t undo a lifetime of being ignored, and his family would still be high pressure even if his dad had included him more! From what I gather his sisters compete really fiercely with each other. I don’t blame him for thinking like he does.” 

“But it was still hurtful to yell like that,” the king objected. “Surely you at _ least  _ expect an apology.” 

The badger sighed. “Yeah. I’ll get one, when he’s ready. But, thing is, he’ll be uncomfortable, and ironically I don’t like seeing him like that. His confidence helps make me confident!” He flashed a fanged grin after he swallowed and paused. Thankfully, it was free of food. 

“If you say so,” Snugglemagne put his chin in a paw.

It was cute that the shaky-self-esteem sidekick, and he used the word with as much affection as his mind could supply, that the sidekick took so much inspiration from the hero. 

* * *

Fun Fact: The only reason I knew there was a fourth musketeer (that achieved that goal two thirds of the way through the book) is that I read an article on the pokemon Keldeo that mentioned he was based on the apprentice. Embarrassing! I feel so uncultured. Snug would probably shake his head. XD

I’ve only written a short drabble about Suicune, but maybe I should try my hand at that trio, as well.    
  
It’s a super weird feeling to feel inferior to a character who gained knowledge from a different place you did (private tutors as a prince) when they wouldn’t be able to express said knowledge unless it was in your head in the first place. 


	6. Experiences

So, in light of the episode we just saw about B.C.’s upbringing, I’m going to have to do some more ruminating on how to frame the clash of the dynamics between B.C. and Mao. It’s actually quite clever, to my mind, to have him _come from_ a family of inventors, so he’s not veering away from the family trade _per se_ , as with a lot of family conflict character arcs, but the general feel is the same. Mao, on the other hand, is desperate to live up to his family. So, they are fundamentally different directions of angst, and Mao, in this story, still could’ve told him off on that basis, so no harm done. Let’s focus on Snug and Mao for now, and next chapter will be about Mao and B.C., but for a different issue.   
  
Minor spoilers for the 'lucky duck mug' episode I guess? But nothing important. It was just a visual gag. 

* * *

The king got word from Blue that he had brought everything up with Mao, as promised. It had gone fine, the canine reassured him. Though the therapist did admit to having some after-the-fact misgivings about the lion telling him of the issues between them.

The lion replayed their conversation in his head.   
  
“Ideally,” the dog had said, “Mao would have sole say over whether he told me things that were going on in his life. I mean, you’re a person too, and it’s up to _you_ what to share about _your_ life. But . . .” he tilted his head. “He wasn’t angry about it, as he’s not well-versed in the way things like this are supposed to work, not being from around here. I probably should’ve been more apprehensive about telling him . . .”  
  
The lion had grimaced. “What do you mean by that? Has he gone off on you?”  
  
The doleful blink of the dog gave him away better than any words could.  
  
“I guess it would be odd of a _therapist_ to ask someone to have better decorum,” the royal reflected.  
  
“Of course it would. I’m supposed to be there to help manage his feelings, and not judge them, not have him control them as he would around other people.”  
  
“As if he controls his anger,” the lion said with grim humor.  
  
“Oh trust me,” the dog declared darkly, “he’s holding back.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
“You heard me.”  
  
The lion wrung his hands. “Come to think of it. His partner has told me that Mao blew the roof clean off their house one time his apprentice and he had done something to make him mad.”  
  
“Yes, and he’s still beating himself up for it. He’s had to pay to re-route all the drainage gutters. He feels- Oh, my, I’m not supposed to tell you that sort of thing.” He smacked his face. “Listen, Your Majesty, maybe it’s not a good idea that we talk about Mao. I don’t know if I can fully preserve his confidentiality. Talking to _you_ is too much like talking about a mutual friend’s problems, you know? I lapse into it as if it were a regular conversation.”  
  
“You could possibly get his permission. He could tell you what was off limits. Just like a regular friend would tell what specifically was private, what not to share with people, too.”  
  
“Hm. That sounds workable.”  
  
The dog had retreated into thought for a few minutes. 

“Do you have a notepad?”  
  
The lion sent for one.

Once he had it and a pen, he said to himself, “holding back anger,” scribbled some more, licked his pointer paw pad, flipped a page, “pipe damage,” wrote much longer again, then he tucked it under his arm. “I’ll have to be fully upfront that I mentioned those two things.”  
  
The lion began to worry about the dog being on the receiving end of the cat’s harsh words. 

“I’ll suggest your idea next time. For now, he’s ready to talk to you about the gloves and the purring.”

* * *

So, the king was waiting on Mao to arrive. 

When the cat did open the door, instead of his usual piercing stare and outgoing confidence, his head was dipped and his gaze averted.  
  
“I have acted terribly, My Lord.” He came closer and saluted before kneeling. “Such disrespect is not typical of the Mao clan, let me assure you,” he said earnestly. “We do not leave before being dismissed, nor raise our voices around those we are beholden to. Even though I’ve done that before, too.” The samurai took a long breath. “It is I who am a failure, here, not my family’s careful preparation for service.”  
  
“You’re not a _failure_ ,” the king shook his head. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s not as bad as all that, my dear sheriff. You are here to make amends. That is all that’s required.” 

“You are, as always, most gracious and forgiving,” he said, finally turning up his green gaze. “I feel fortunate and blessed to be here. Have no doubt. Other royalty would not take such untoward behavior lying down.”  
  
“You’re absolutely right,” the lion reflected. He himself had had to tread lightly around other rulers. Maybe he was acting differently around Mao due to his attraction? Had Quinton raised his voice, or any of his guards or servants, depending on severity, he might have temporarily suspended them, or at the very least not invited into his personal presence for a while. Was he playing favorites, he worried.  
  
Always worrying, it seemed.

"And you're out of practice for such things, aren't you?" the lion asked. "You never intended to be a permanent protector. You liked being able to travel, take on your own tasks, or short term assignments instead."   
  
"That is no excuse."  
  
"Perhaps not." The lion had chastised him about manners before, but he felt he had a better grasp on Mao's overall character now. He wasn't being _intentionally_ rude, as with some other animals the king had encountered. He was just very emotional. "And, coincidentally enough, since we have the Ruby, I've never had to direct a protector. So we're both sort of first timers, aren't we?"  
  
His imagination took that phrase to places that he'd enjoy later, but he had more to address, at present. He was too old to anticipate being with inexperienced partners, anyway, he chided himself with amusement. Too old to even be justified much in imagining it, really. Though who knew, Mao might never have been with a man. Rumors that circulated courtrooms about warrior social mores indicated that probably wasn't the case, though.   
  
“So tell me about what was bothering you,” the lion switched tack.  
  
“With the gloves, I was taking out my own frustration on you,” he admitted. “Blue pointed out to me that I had kept the gloves secret from my family, and I felt badly about it, so when I expected you to support me in facing them, and you just suggested to keep doing what I had been doing all along, it doubly pained me. That is not the only angle of the difficulty, either . . .”  
  
He pulled off his gloves, and held them in his hands. His invisible extended etheric fingers made the fabric crinkle where they would not have if he were holding them only with his physical digits.  
  
“Dragons, as you know, are magical creatures, and there are markets for using their body parts in potions and spells. But my clan believes a hero is not supposed to encourage their use like this. They are only to be slain when they are a danger. Nothing more, nothing less. Other dragons are to feed on their remains and absorb their magic. Wielder animals are not supposed to enable other animals’ using it. There’s nothing _wrong_ with it _per se_ : it is not dark magic or anything of the sort. Some clans let their heroes do this, so as not to let anything ‘go to waste.’ And that contact with other wielders has influenced me. I have never desecrated a dragon that I’ve slain on my own. But, I was taken in by the promise of power this one spawned tales about.”  
  
He squeezed them. “I haven’t told anyone else they are of a dragon’s mane either, so as not to . . . _technically_ ‘encourage their use.’ I am merely using them to keep people safe, to my own mind. But much of my family will not see it that way. And I have to accept whatever they have to say about it, because they have their own autonomy of opinion and action.” He turned that piercing green towards the king. “Do you understand that, too? That you should not hold them accountable for their _beliefs_ , even if it is _against_ your subordinate?”  
  
“Against someone I _care about,_ ” the gentle lion corrected. “But yes, I do.”  
  
“Good.” 

“So is it _not_ about your being weaker?” the lion asked. “Or that’s not the _main_ issue?”  
  
The cat’s mouth hardened. 

He squirmed for a moment. “It’s different for each one of them, obviously. And it’s best not to get involved. All right?”  
  
“That’s not really an answer.”  
  
“It will have to suffice.”  
  
There was a long silence. 

Since the cat had effectively closed out that line of questioning, the lion supposed he had no choice but to move on to the next. As he often did, he hoped he was addressing it with Blue.   
  
“And what about the purring?”  
  
“I was, after I had calmed down, very confused about that,” Mao said, studying the lion in the way that was so intent, it made him feel as if his skin didn’t exist, as if all his nerves had been deactivated, and an acid-spitting dragon were slowly dissolving him from the outside in.  
  
“You’ve been in _relationships_ with smaller cats, have you not?” the swordsman asked.  
  
Already feeling so wide open, the lion could not coherently respond for a moment.  
  
“Y-yes, I have.” _  
  
__And I’d like to be right now._  
  
“Has no one _asked_ you permission to purr before?” the younger man continued to prod. “Even just acquaintances?”  
  
“No. Never.”  
  
“It is not limited to my family. It depends on where you are, but especially among the upper classes, it is considered polite. If some cats _can’t_ withhold it, they aren’t exactly blamed for it, but it’s considered a good skill, at the very least. Although, the thing that is unique to clans, and by extension my family, is that _no one_ has difficulty with it, because we’re taught from an early age. One wielder in particular has speculated to me that perhaps it is like learning a language. Past a certain age, you will simply not pick it up as well as if you are brought up with a second language. You know of that, right?”  
  
The lion nodded. 

“So,” the cat shook his head, “why would that be? You’re _royalty._ If _anyone_ were to pay respect that way, it would be to _you._ ”  
  
“I . . . really have no clue.”  
  
“The attitudes here are certainly different here in the Valley. You all openly cuddle, with friends or simple objects of admiration, something I’ve only seen some in small bands of individuals, and it’s never as widespread as here. . .” he trailed off.  
  
“So maybe my culture’s reputation preceded me?” the king speculated. “They figured since the Valley was such a soft place, they wouldn’t need to bother withholding soft gestures.”  
  
“That . . . seems like it fits.” The cat rolled his shoulders and his cape revealed the tops of his arms, where the king noticed fur was rising. If he had had his cape off, he’d sure he’d be able to see fur going up on his neck, too. “How _dare_ they discard proper respect for my liege. I’d like to _teach_ them a thing or two.” It didn't appear to be a joke. He did not flatten his hackles. 

He cracked his knuckles.  
  
The lion giggled nervously. 

A tingle had gone from the top of his head down to his chest.  
  
Apparently his knight wanted to come to his defense. And though he appreciated the initiative, “Nothing even remotely like that is necessary. I probably won’t even _bring it up_ . I really don’t mind it.”  
  
“ ** _I mind._ **”


	7. Dominant

After patching up the misunderstanding, the king had invited both the badger and Mao to a dinner banquet to make up for it, just for good measure. Not that the king ever needed much excuse to throw a banquet. They were just about to dig in. 

“Does the erythism do anything for your dating game?” the badger elbowed him.   
  
“Does my who what now?”   
  
“Your chest hair is _naturally_ red, right?” he asked.   
  
Mao smacked his face with a gloved hand and dragged it down to his chin. “B.C., have you seriously lived in this kingdom for this long and not heard one single sweetie pie sing of ‘the kind Snugglemagnes’ and their ‘ginger fur flames.’”

“You’re way better at picking out lyrics than I am. I just like to vibe to the sound, man.”  
  
Mao rolled his eyes. “Point is, _every single_ portrait of _25 generations_ in the palace-”   
  
“Again, dude, you’re also way more into history and family history than I am. Stop acting like this.”   
  
“Like what? Like you don’t pay attention to your surroundings and notice the _incredibly obvious?_ ”   
  
“Hey. Y’know how Adorabat mentioned her father saying she had a ‘rich inner life’? Well let’s just say I’d really like that kind of _positive reinforcement_ from you, if you can crowbar it out of your cold dead heart.”   
  
“You routinely forget we’re battling monsters **_while_ ** _it’s going on.”_

The lion started. That was **_quite_ ** troubling to hear of one of his protectors he had entrusted his kingdom to. Was the badger a semi-sapient animal? He tried not to have anything against that type personally, but it did have ramifications he had to consider for his citizens’ sake. He obviously seemed to be far above the dog Mao roamed with as a boy, but the canine did know how to write messages, like the warning he’d left Mao, and he had his own language that Mao understood, so he was **_far_ ** more intelligent than the average biased person glancing at him might assume. Other semi-sapients had trouble with reading or spelling but could speak just fine. So they could ‘pass’ far better as an average animal than the dog. Wandering attention was a very common theme between them all, though. And, although he would never _dream_ of firing the badger, even if he and Mao hadn’t been so close, he was fully prepared to hire another protector if that meant having two fully ‘present’ animals. He’d just have to couch it very carefully. 

_I mean really, I don’t have to tell them the_ **_reason_ ** _I wanted to do it, right? More security is plenty_ , he thought. 

He felt _so bad_ for this train of thought _already._ His discretion was running on all cylinders. 

Bringing in another protector to supplement defense had already been a subject to come up, but Mao insisted he could handle it. The king wondered if it was the sheriff’s ego, though. Surely he wouldn’t endanger citizens just to ‘prove’ himself? Maybe he could overestimate himself and that wouldn’t have any troubling implications… _Oh fiddlesticks, we’re here to enjoy a nice dinner._ He hated stressing about this. There were meeting times for that. He was supposed to be ‘off duty’ right now. 

Mao went on, “I think if anything you need a ‘dad’ who will cover the basics like learning to look both ways when you cross the street, and focus on your own safety.”  
  
“Just because I can’t meditate for two days at a time-”

“Is THAT what you got out of what I said? Are you not understanding words, either? I’m not saying you have to even be able to read a newspaper article in one sitting if you don’t want to, nor follow anything as rigorous as my regimen, but a _little self-improvement never hurt!_ ”   
  
“I don’t have to take this from you,” the badger looked at all the fancy food laid out on the table, and incredibly, shook his head and left.   
  
Mao sat there for a moment, glanced at the king, balled his fists.   
  
“I’m sorry, my liege. We’ve been horrible guests, when we hadn’t even started the meal.” He sighed.   
  
“For what it’s worth, I agree with you.”

“Unless I can convince him, nothing really matters, does it?”

That hurt the king, but it was routine and very like the swordsman to focus more on a task or goal than feelings. 

The cat leaned back in his chair. “He did make me wonder something though.”

“Yes?”

“The ginger color in tabbycats is dominant to all other colors. It’d be pretty hard to breed out of a line.The dominance of the Mao clan’s black coloration is second only to ginger, even though in other animals black dominates everything else. I forget what word B.C. used- he’s more into that kind of science than I am- but I’m not sure what he’s referring to is the same thing. We’ve known a tigeress and a zebress with red stripes rather than black. Like, not magic-induced, as many colorful animals are. It’s recessive. That’s what he’s talking about.” 

“Well, I don’t know if the Snugglemagne trait is same gene as small cats, but it is definitely dominant.” He privately found it amusing that, aside from his separate body coloration, his mane color might be ‘dominant’ to Mao’s black. Even though it had no bearing on anything other than linguistic similarity to - well, other more _sensual_ realms of dominance. “There are even many stories of the early Snugglemagne line trying to establish that one could not have normal inheritance if they did not bear the distinctive family marker. As in, if you were firstborn you were still second in line to the throne. If you had a red headed- or red tailed in the case of a female- child it would revert back to the child, and their uncle or aunt would be booted back off. Nasty business! We threw out those rules several generations before my great-grandfather was on the throne.” 

Mao nodded thoughtfully. 

“Does your family do any … encouraging of endogamy? I think the poem scrolls you lent me mention mostly all the same fur color, right?” 

“It’s not a hard and fast rule, but yeah.” Mao said. “Generally it’s not frowned on if you choose someone differently colored, but everyone gets a lot more excited when another one of their own comes into the fold.” The cat drummed the table. “There was some tension when an entire litter in a family of distant cousins all married cats other than black. It got smoothed over though.” 

Mao’s ear twitched as he adjusted his gaze. “My dad technically isn’t black. We call it ‘solid blue’- a … dol- dul- something, I forget the official term, B.C. knows it. It’s recessive. Even so, dad’s still a particularly dark example.”

“What about yourself? Do you have a preference either way?” 

Mao shrugged. “A couple of my sisters have had kids. I’m the youngest so I’m under very little pressure to contribute to the family line period. So that’s nice.” 

Despite his attraction, it made the king sad to think of Mao’s individual traits not being passed on. He himself figured that if he settled down with a male, he’d reluctantly hire a surrogate to continue the throne. He had already seriously considered doing so purely because of the big chink now in his kingdom’s armor. When they were all safe with nothing to worry about, it hardly ever crossed his mind because with males, they could usually father children well into old age. He had a hard time picturing Mao hiring a surrogate. But he had no idea if his family code of honor addressed things as specific as that. He suddenly feared for any child that might be considered a ‘bastard’ among a family who had already hurt Mao so much for simply not measuring up. 

Yet another thing on the list of reasons to doubt this should go anywhere. 

“I have to tell myself that’s the one good thing about being the youngest.” 

“The _only_ good thing?” Snugglemagne asked sadly. 

“Well I mean … not the ‘only’ maybe. Just seems that way sometimes. And B.C. is free as a bird, too, ‘cause his family’s not concerned with that sort of thing.” 

The lion's thoughts shifted back to the badger. He combed through the conversation. “Say, sheriff…”

“Yes?”

“I’ve had an idea about your friend. Tell me, why is it so important for him to train his mind?” 

“Why ask such an obvious question?” 

“Bear with me,” the lion said patiently. 

“All right then … he’s in a dangerous line of work and it would behoove him to take it seriously.” 

“But why is that important to **_you?_ **” he emphasized as he angled for the intended idea. 

“I just answered that,” he said, now getting irritated. 

“What would happen if he _failed_ to take it seriously _enough?_ ” 

“That's obvious too.” 

“And how would that make you feel?” 

“I don’t want to think about it.” 

“Be a good sport.”

“Why??”

“If I told you this might help achieve what you are trying to accomplish, will you do it?” 

The cat narrowed his eyes at him. “ _Fine._ I would be sad.” 

“‘Sad’ is when you have a bad day,” the lion said, again very patiently. “How would _this_ make you feel? What would it really be like?” 

“I don’t see how this is going to help.”

“Will you trust me?”

The cat worked his jaw. “Is it about ‘trust’? You’re just being really annoying! We’ve already had this argument over and over and so far, stating the obvious, or whatever you’re getting at, probably isn’t going to change that long-standing result.”

The lion shifted his paws. “I asked why it was important to you. The root of your motivation, Mao, is that you **_care_ ** about him. Correct?”

“Of course!! What else would it be??” 

“It matters the _way_ you say things,” the lion tried to explain. “Have you ever _said_ you cared about him?”   
  
“Fairly often.”   
  
“On this particular subject, though.”   
  
“I . . . guess not?”   
  
“When you talk to him about it, what he’s hearing is that _you disapprove._ When you are domineering and belittling, this is the main message that gets across. He doesn’t ‘hear’ your _concern._ Does that make sense?”   
  
“No.”   
  
The lion, at long last, sighed in exasperation. But his patience wasn’t totally gone. 

“All of this is plain as day.” Mao said. “If he doesn’t accept my words, he doesn’t. If he’s decided not to prioritize his own wellbeing, then even if I don’t like it, that is his decision. No matter how much it irritates me.”

“It pains you,” the lion rephrased softly. “Listen, Mao. If I call Quinton to fetch your friend, and I tell you that you will have _much better odds_ of his perhaps _doing this_ if you follow my instructions . . . will you do it?” he asked again.   
  
“Worth a shot, I guess.”   
  
“All right. You _apologize_ first. Sincerely. Make sure he accepts it sincerely, too.”

“If I’m apologizing, then why would I bring it up again? Doesn’t that negate the apology?” he analyzed.

“I guess, in a certain way of looking at it. But, instead of pushing again. Walk him through what would follow if worst came to worst. _Picture it_ , and live it as if it is _happening_ . How it would _affect you_ .”   
  
Mao’s ears sagged slightly. “Uh . . . ok.”

The cat looked at him closely, “When would you have needed to talk to someone about being in danger? Any of your noble friends been moonlighting as vigilantes?”

By his tone, the serious enforcer sounded as if he anticipated starting in on permission to put a stop to it.

The lion chuckled. “Oh no, no, my friend. It’s just in any sort of relationship, familial, friendly, or otherwise, sometimes you have to explain _why_ an action is very important to you, in order for them to better understand why you want them to do something.”

He took in some air.  
  
“QUINTON!”   
  
The king gave him very specific instructions in how to present the supplication to return. The bird was to assure the badger that he was going to get an apology and he wasn’t just being dragged back because of Mao being embarrassed in front of the king and wanting him to observe niceties.

It seemed to work, but still, his normal cheery mood hadn’t reestablished itself when he came back. 

He stood there, arms crossed, towering over Mao, who was still sitting with his fingers interlaced. The cat stared at his gloves for a few seconds more before beginning to speak, and didn’t look up. “We’re both adults and I shouldn’t feel entitled to order you around, my position aside. We agreed that when the king appointed me, our equal partnership was still intact in the same way as when we were untethered,” he said contritely. “I trespassed that agreement.” 

“It’s OK, man.” he clapped his shoulder.

Mao gritted his teeth at the physical gesture, the king noticed. 

Though, the mere four syllables in response to the long, almost flowery sentences made the lion chuckle inside. Mao hadn’t merely said the words ‘I’m sorry,’ as many others would. If the king were on the receiving end of such an apology, he would've responded in kind, lengthy with thanks and praise. Maybe the gentle king and rough Mao had at least a tiny bit in common, no matter temperament.   
  
“I do have one more thing to say.” He glanced over at the king, and took a deep breath. “If anything happened to you, I would not be able to carry out my duties. Not for a while . . .”

The lion wanted to jump in and dissuade him from focusing on the _job_ and not the feelings again, but then the cat went on,

“The last time I lost a partner, I hadn’t been with them nearly as long as you. And I couldn’t safely promise anyone I’d be in shape to protect anything.” He paused. “I needed to grieve. I’d estimate I’d have to take at the _very_ least three months to recuperate. Maybe almost a year.” 

How could the cat _**still** _ _reduce feelings to **numbers**_ \---!!!! Yet it seemed to be having the intended effect on the badger. 

“The king, as we’ve established in our meetings,” the warrior said, “has contingent arrangements if either or both of us fall in the line of duty. Temporarily at least, in effect it would be both of us. Essentially, I would be out of commission.”

The soldier took another, longer pause, ears sinking further. “Adora would be crushed. I’d hope she’d still want to be an adventurer, but . . . I would not try whatsoever to even nudge her back into it. She’s still far too young to even have any concrete decisions about her life anyway.”  
  
He was still sort of deflecting feelings onto someone else, but the king kept listening attentively. Dread crept up that the badger might take this as a guilt trip. Still being railroaded by his _domineering_ partner. But, he hadn’t promised this _would_ work, only that the odds were _better_ . Best not to worry.   
  
He still worried.   
  
“No one could replace you,” the cat whispered. “I hate even having to think of doing it. But for the safety of the valley, the king prefers I had at least one other with me. Maybe more. There’s no one suitable here. I don’t know if I’d mesh with whom the king has lined up. I might have to either travel or put the word out, interview people, find old contacts.”   
  
Honestly, the king had expected crying, really tapping into experiencing the ‘future’ life he was describing. Something a little more touchy-feely. But then, a tactical mindset was what gave Mao so much advantage in what he did. Maybe he should stop expecting Mao to act more like all the people he interacted with, who were so foreign to battle. The same way Mao should stop expecting his partner to act more like Mao, except on the badger’s terms. 

“I’m saying this because I don’t want anything to happen to you. I know people often say ‘I don’t know what I’d do if . . ‘ Well I **_do_ ** know what I would do. It would be necessary. I wouldn’t like it.”

Again, woefully understated, like ‘sad.’ But he had somehow still satisfactorily conveyed the magnitude of the ordeal for him. The king, once again, didn’t know what to make of someone with such a tight rein on the softer emotions. It was … interesting. Albeit often vexing. 

Well here came the waterworks from the badger. At least _somebody_ was crying. He himself was still trying to process the . . . utter lack of . . . he didn’t know how to describe it. Radiating sentiment of the words. Sure, they were true and it seemed like he meant them, but-   
  
He shook his head and stopped questioning it.   
  
“And. I would carry you with me.”

* * *

Author’s Notes: (1) The king doesn’t know the words “flat affect” or “blunted affect” but I suspect Blue, who has blunted affect, would. I’m pretty sure it can be subclinical, and/or transient so I’m not trying to write Mao as diagnosed with anything in that realm, FYI. I haven’t yet seen differently in my psychiatry textbook, in which I’m doing some reading in advance, but someone feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.   
  
(2) I had to learn a scaled down version of this lesson when discussing dietary changes and exercise with people. You have to control anxiety/irritation and make amply sure that whomever you are talking really gets that your primary motivation is their enjoying life more and your caring about them **not dying** from preventable conditions. Up to and including depression and co-morbid complications. If you don’t monitor your own feelings and tone very closely, they take it as shaming or ‘concern trolling’ . . . whatever the heck that means.


	8. Ouro

The next time the warrior showed up to their regular meeting, the king dreaded Mao bringing up stopping the massages. Then again, it might be somewhat awkward to resume as if they hadn't had their argument, either. 

Especially since they weren't official partners yet, the lion reminded himself, he had to be mature about this. He wanted to touch the cat, sure, but if the samurai had his own reasons to be hesitant, than he would follow his cues. 

The cat bustled in, looking jazzed for some reason. Well, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. It was nice to see him in an energetically good mood.  
  
“I was thinking, do you want to go on that hunt today?” the cat asked.  
  
The lion nodded. “Sure.”  
  
“Nice!” He punched one fist into the other. “Well let’s hop to it, then. Do you need to change clothes, maybe? Wouldn’t want you to ruin your good ones.” 

The lion couldn’t help but blush at the suggestion that he slip out of his pants, and the cat teased him, “Don’t like commoners’ clothes, do you?”  
  
Yeah, sure, **_that_ ** was the problem, the king inwardly laughed at himself. 

Come to think of it, he really hadn’t been on a good wild romp in a long time. When his father had passed away, he had completely lost any interest at all in camping. He had felt like his dad sort of angled him into it, rather than going on his own power.  
  
So, he slunk away with embarrassment still burning in his face to go try to find something suitable. Did he even have anything? Would he have to find Quinton, quietly this time for once, and tell him to buy a pair of slacks on the sly?

Mao may be fine with walking around with no pants, but he thought he’d absolutely faint from the shame, probably, even if he _didn’t_ get aroused. 

After pawing through his closet for a little while, he decided to act on the idea with Quinton. 

When the bird entered the room and received his instructions, he said blithely, “Sire, when are you going to tell him? I can't believe you haven't at least _brought up_ your attraction.”

“Oh hush, you! If I had to sit here and explain **_all_ ** the ways in which I’m not sure this is even a good idea in the first place, you’d miss your tea time.” He thought about the dinner with the badger, especially, and the family line discussion with Mao. 

“Well, I for one hope that you either take action, or stop being frazzled about it,” the bird said drolly. 

The lion rolled his eyes. “Should I put in a little pay raise for your absolutely _sparkling_ wisdom?”

The bird smiled as much as he was able with his beak. 

“Really, though,” the lion said speculatively, “Until I find out more about his clan, and their customs, I’m not sure I’ll even broach the subject. But it’s always so hard to pry even a little out of him. It’s almost like, he’s guarding them on purpose, you know?”

“Well cultural differences have rarely ever stopped you before.”  
  
He set his mouth. “Yes. I know. Even when they were outright hostile to my orientation. But this is an even more delicate situation. For one, he’s a wielder. That’s breaking whole new ground for me. And I’ve had _no_ contact with his nation at all. I’ve been reading the history scrolls he’s had couriers bring in, but they don’t talk about the country, only his family’s lore. I feel like . . . I want things to progress naturally. I don’t want that to be the _reason_ that I look into it. It almost seems . . . I don’t know, shallow.” 

The bird shrugged. “I guess I see what you mean. But how are you yourself holding up?” 

“You know me, patient to a fault,” the lion huffed.  
  
“It’s not a fault at all, Sire, unless it’s doing _you_ harm,” the bird said softly. 

“It’s . . . really not, actually. I’m past my prime,” he chuckled. “I mean yes, my heart’s a little dinged up, but at the same time, I really am enjoying the contact. And if he brings it up himself, that would be, I don’t know, sort of a relief. I almost think it _should_ happen that way. It’s not like other people sitting on their feelings. My approach is different maybe, nonverbal, but it is, in some sense, still an approach. I think if he’s enjoying himself _enough_ , he’ll say so.”

“That does make sense,” the bird replied. “Adventurers are less shy about that sort of thing, yes?”  
  
“So I’ve heard.” 

“More adventurous.”  
  
“Not your best work,” the king repeated Blue’s phrase from the other day. A weak pun, at best.   
  
“Of course, compared to nobles, practically all people are,” the bird said with a click of his beak. 

“True, true. Now off with you,” he waved the tops of his straightened hands at his underling, with fingers pointing to the floor. 

The fluffy bird flounced out of the room, whistling and tweeting a love song to tease him. 

* * *

When he got back to the cat, the samurai strategist said, “I was thinking, for preparedness sake, you should grab something else, too.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“A book.”  
  
“What? Shouldn’t we enjoy nature and whatnot.”  
  
“Your Majesty, no offense, but I know you. You’ll be starved for stimulation out there. You’re always fiddling with something or another, looking for the next flashy entertainment. There’s no shame in getting bored, you know.”  
  
“Oh . . . all right.”  
  
He knew _what kind_ of entertainment and stimulation he’d prefer. 

But, regardless, he took the stroll down to the library. The fabric of the pants was unfamiliar, so he was more distracted than usual as he browsed his favorites. Or maybe he should try something new? What would pair well with birdsong, he thought jokingly, as if it were a wine and food dish. 

When he had selected one, he once again returned to the cat. 

Heck, he’d never even _canoodled_ outdoors before. There was always the standard picnic, but being out in the open was a little nerve wracking in terms of worry about someone happening across you. This could be the perfect ‘first time’ for him. A little out of his comfort zone, maybe, but as Quinton said, adventurers were more adventurous. 

He definitely liked the idea of sitting in the soft grass, resuming his usual contact with the samurai. He hadn’t clarified if he was to go through with the idea of putting the breaks on the massages, or not. So many other things had come up. 

So, the lion resolved, he would at least offer. 

The cat led him out of the palace, and asked, “Do you want to walk, or take the bike?”  
  
“Walk, definitely,” the lion said instantly. He was not keen on the first time he was snugged up to Mao’s back to be on a ride where he could not scoot away. 

They made their way through the cobblestone roads, and a few people bowed to them. 

“In fact,” the lion said, “Why don’t we run, once we reach the outskirts? It’ll be fun.”  
  
“We could run right now.”  
  
“I don’t know if the king and the protector sprinting through the streets would put people very much at ease. They might think some dragon’s on the loose.”  
  
“Oh. Yeah. I didn’t think of that.” Mao laced his hands on the back of his head, elbows pointing outwards. “I’m used to being in the public eye a great deal, but you’re pretty considerate to think of others like that. Sort of like strategizing, too. Of course, at the same time, it’s almost sad you can’t do a simple thing like run.” 

“I suppose.”  
  
“I know what that’s like, though, really. Sometimes it feels like you don’t _have_ your own life, you know? When B.C. talks about his childhood, sometimes I find myself thinking, ‘Huh, he never had to think about others.' He could’ve shut himself up in a workshop and that would’ve been perfectly fine, to his family. But with the clan, even lesser wielders are expected to fulfill certain duties out in the world. And some days we rarely ever had a conversation that didn’t involve musing on what effect this or that would have on ‘civilians.’” 

The lion smiled. He was glad the normally reserved cat was feeling a lot more chatty today. “Sounds familiar, yes. You all are not rulers, but you are very focused on the public nonetheless.”  
  
Once they reached the fields bordering the city, the cat, now beautifully framed by plants that both matched and slightly deviated from his irises, was eager. “Now. Do you do any endurance training proper, in addition to working out? Or do you just dance? I need to know if I’m gonna leave you in the dust.” 

The soldier, who had been drilled since childhood, laughed robustly. 

“I’d like to think I could hold my own,” the lion laughed in turn. He adjusted the satchel, where the book resided. “But you’ll probably far outstrip me. Not to mention the magic. Doesn’t that enhance your speed?”  
  
“Yes. But what I was really asking is that I could run for _hours._ Even if I keep an easy pace with you, you might not want to go as far as I would.” 

“Well, if I only built muscle, I’d have very little cardio endurance. But to answer your question, no, I don’t do anything beyond dancing. Let’s see how I hold up. And, I think I want to run flat out, at least at first. Never really thought of doing that, to be honest. It sounds thrilling.” 

So the two cats set off, paws digging into the fields. 

The first ten minutes, the lion felt fine. More than fine. It was every bit as good as he thought it would be, heart pounding. 

The second ten minutes, although his breath and pulse felt all right, the repetitive movements were making him feel funny. He was used to twisting, doing a different step each minute. His muscle memory questioned him. Was there no pivot, was there no leap?  
  
As if reading his mind, the super strength black cat later leapt at one point, clearing twenty feet straight upwards, and gave a hollering whoop. 

The lion grinned through his panting. He had pictured the ordinarily stoic cat enjoying himself with a lot of abandon. But not this particular way. It wasn’t the _anticipated_ result of the outing, but wonderful all the same. 

He himself began to have to leap over logs, and watch his footing, which was getting progressively more interesting.  
  
When he later began to slow, lungs burning, the cat slowed in kind. 

“That was great,” the lion took in the new scents. With the accelerated pace of his breaths, it was like everything was not quite as clear cut, as if he were looking at a fuzzy screen. He couldn’t process each smell as much as he usually would when intentionally and slowly drawing it in. 

He flopped down on his back in the meadow they had ended up in. 

His whole body was alight with adrenaline and endorphins. Combined with the sunlight on his white fur, and the cool breeze playing across his chest, it was sheer bliss. 

The cat sat, crossing his legs. 

“When I get by breath back,” the lion said, “would you like your usual massage, my daring hero? Clearing trees in a single bound!” 

“I don’t know.”  
  
“You said you might experiment with not doing them . . .”  
  
“Guess this is another variable. I’m definitely going to feel better after this. Maybe we could do this regularly?” 

“That sounds lovely,” the lion agreed. 

The cat leaned over him, at an angle that almost had him looking upside down. “Aw, what the heck. I’m at the very least going to do this.”  
  
He rubbed his head on the lion in typical feline fashion, making little rotations, and smelling of the surrounding plants. Along with his green eyes, it was as if the cat were becoming an elemental being from a poem, fusing into the woods, the noble thought dreamily. 

And oh, how he’d like to fuse with the fiery feline, too. 

But his body felt pleasantly heavy and light at the same time. He was still enjoying it. The grass tickled the back of his neck as he moved his own forehead against the cat in kind. 

“It’s a very good thing your family does head rubs,” the lion crooned. “Because I wouldn’t want to go without it.”  
  
The man blinked. Then laughed in baritone notes. 

“What?”  
  
“Oh we don’t do that.”  
  
“No?”

“I first read of it as a boy,” the cat said, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Even when I set out from the clan, I was hesitant to do it. Thought it sounded so strange.” 

“What changed?”  
  
“I met a tigress.” 

From his tone, the lion could clearly tell he meant a romantic partner. The lion wasn’t sure to feel gratitude at her enabling his ease of affection, happiness that it might mean the cat might be comparing him to her, or wariness of the cat bringing up a woman. 

“She encouraged me to do it with others, too.”

That seemed to knock the king down a peg.  
  
“But B.C.’s constant cuddling with multiple civilians here, and the massages, I was wholly not prepared for that,” the cat mused. 

“The massages . . . erm . . . aren’t exactly ‘average’ in Pure Heart either,” the lion said shyly. 

“Oh?” he looked genuinely shocked. 

“Is that why you accepted them?” the lion asked, heart sinking a little. “You thought it was, what, polite somehow?” 

“Well yes. I figured it was part of the culture. I thought to refuse would be rude. I was willing to offend the common people. But not you.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel as if it was necessary.”  
  
The martial artist was silent for a few moments. 

And just like that, the lion felt like a balloon which was leaking air. 

“Of course, it wasn’t just because you were king, realize. I didn't want to hurt you, as a person. So much I have to adjust to here. We don’t even _hug_ much in my family. Or touch. And your saying all you do, even if you don’t mean harm . . .” he said distantly.  
  
“You still feel badly about what I said about your family?” the lion asked meekly.  
  
“No! Really! But, I mean, that’s not the only culturally insensitive thing you’ve dropped on me.”  
  
“What do you mean??”

The cat grimaced.  
  
“ _There is only one top spot, in government or business._ ” 

The lion tried to think back to when he had said that. It was that same day, with the reveal of the dragon mane gloves. A cursed day, he was starting to think.  
  
And it didn’t take much further thought to see why the cat was citing it, either. “Yes, I see. There are some countries that are run by triumvirates, or councils. Not kings, nor emperors, nor presidents, nor ministers. That was a blunder on my part, too.” 

“And some businesses don’t have ‘bosses,’ either,” the cat nodded. “Some are collectively owned. In the clan, a lot of us even think of ourselves a bit like a business. Like a merchant family, with their trade. _We_ act based on the elders’ joint decisions. We don’t have a chief, like some tribes.”  
  
“I see. Well no _wonder_ you were so fed up with me,” the lion whispered sorrowfully. 

“But I did mean what I said about being happy to have ended up here,” the cat said, unusually gently. He bent down to rub him again. He nosed the lion’s chin, then slid his head back up to his temple. “My Lord, in the grand scheme of things, you are worlds better than most nobility I have met. Even for the ones not outright hostile to an outsider, there is still far more friction. I think even, that I was _more_ surprised that it came from _you_. Unexpected. So it got me riled up more. I was mad. But. Believe me. I don’t hold it against you.” 

The lion gazed at him.  
  
“You remind me of a diddy I encountered shortly after I met B.C.”  
  
“ _My sky-eyed creek-hopping flyer_

_Sometimes you act like you’re just barely holding on_

_I’m not sure you realize how deep your foothold is_

_If you’d let the sky crash in_

_After the earthquakes cease_

_shaking your feet_

_I think you’d find_

_You’d have more peace,_

_But that’s just me.  
_ _  
__  
__My sky-eyed creek-hopping cryer  
_ _  
__Let life break your boundaries_

_And shore you up in its sheath_

_If you’d open up the airwaves_

_Transmitting around_

_I think you’d find_

_You’d have more peace._

_But that’s just me._

_My sky-eyed creek-hopping mire_

_Sometimes you act like you’ve already achieved_

_But after a late night talking_

_I’m sure you realize about continuous growth from a seed_

_I might be reading you a little wrong, dear._

_We try to form impressions of people,_

_but they’re not always clear_ _  
__I will be here_

 _If you don’t believe me_ _  
__But you could have-_

_. . . so much more_

_Than what I can do for you_ _  
__  
__My sky-eyed creek-hopping friar_

_I don’t think you realize how powerful you are._

_Someone once said that to me to encourage_

_And I hope to pass it on to stir up._ ” 

The blue eyed lion was leaking some of his own blue to join the grass by the end of the tune. “That was beautiful.”  
  
“My voice is kinda rough,” the warrior grumbled. “You should hear someone with a real set of pipes go at it. I’ll find you a recording.” 

“I would like that a lot. And if you’re ever in need of singing lessons, my door’s always open.”  
  
“Uh . . . I don’t know. I have a lot I’m working on as it is.”  
  
“That’s fine. Like the massages, I don’t mean to make you feel as if you have to accept.”  
  
The cat smiled. “Well I’m glad for that miscommunication.”  
  
The lion’s heart leapt. “Y-yes?” 

“Oh heck yes. Even if you had given me a detailed disclaimer that it wasn’t related to B.C.’s constant snuggling, I like to think I would’ve accepted anyway. But, for today, I think I’m good. I like right where we’re at. I don’t even feel much like hunting anymore.” 

The lion smiled. 

He had to agree, that he didn’t want to move. His breath had slowed, and his skin still glowed.

“Not many other nobles would be able to do this,” the cat said, “In my experience, they tend to be an unathletic bunch. I’m glad you are.”

“Oh? Does it matter that much?” 

“I guess I mean that, it’s nice to have something in common with you, since we’re pretty different,” the cat reflected. “And also, since I’ve opted to partner with B.C., and no one’s joined us, I haven’t had someone to do this with. Other heroes were game, sure, but then they’d have their own tasks to get on with, too. We even had a song about it.”  
  
“Oh? Some other bard got inspired, huh?”  
  
The cat sang in more energetic baritone. His rougher voice did seem better suited to the gruff tone of this song, rather than the more flowing melody of the other.   
  
  
“ _We’ll catch dragons, we’ll chase villains_

_We’ll do right by all civilians_

_We’ll rescue those who chase the dragon_

_Broken record, oh, a boros ouro theme_

_Oke or oh ah bo ro o ro_

_But sometimes you have to catch some z’s_

_And chase your own daydreams_

_Hero, do right by yourself_

_So when someone else needs help_

_Oke or oh ah bo ro o ro_

_You’ll be ready, replete, and steady_

_So, embrace this feeling heady_

_I want to run with you until we both hit runner’s high_

_And then fall down on the grass and watch the sky--- go--- by_

_Isn’t all that water funny, lookin’ fluffy and dry_

_Every shape we meet will so quickly say goodbye_

_The same exact ones will not exist again_

_Isn’t it funny, we may be the only ones to catch them.”_


	9. Badgerclops Tells All (With Audio Narration)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! 
> 
> Those of you who've encountered my Tumblr have already heard this part of this story, but it's been long enough that perhaps you could use a refresher. Maybe the punchline at the end has even slipped your mind. ;) 
> 
> A conflict over there put some distance between me and the fandom for a while, hence why I haven't updated this in such a span of time, despite having plenty of chapters already written for it. 
> 
> But now that I've worked through much of that stuff, and written blogs about it, I'm back and ready to get a move on. 
> 
> (admittedly got distracted by the ATLA fandom too. Whoops. And I still need to do a sequel to that crossover drawing . . .) 
> 
> In other good news, I ate 3 whole meals yesterday. Unusual. 
> 
> I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I am open to a beta reader for this fic, if anyone would like to take it on. (I'm not re-recording for this chapter particularly, but for any other chapters which you feel might benefit from revision, you can give suggestions) 
> 
> I might even do some art doodle dumps again soon- remember that my alternative designs for Mao (or the single one of B.C., for that matter) are free to use and trace.

Audio Narration:

(I really love doing Snug's voice and will probably do random, not-related-to-this-story lines from him, too. Any requests?) 

[B C and Snug on SoundCloud](https://soundcloud.com/kindlingkatalyst/badgerclops-tells-all-mp4)

You can either listen, or follow along through the text. 

* * *

One day, the badger, for some reason, asked for a private audience with the king. 

“So, with a lot more effort than I’m used to expending,” he grinned, “I pried permission out of Mao Mao to talk to you about him.”

“Don't you mean you-“

“If you’re gonna say ‘badgered’ him into it then just don’t,” he said flatly. “You’re not funny, and honestly whoever started up that joke is kinda racist. I’m way **_not_ ** hot-headed and belligerent like many badgers on average … especially the dark honey badger species … ‘Honey badger don’t care’ and ‘Honey badger does what it wants’ and whatnot, but I still get crap sometimes ... as if people expect that from me. When Mao first met me he was puzzled by that … he was excited, that I’d be similar to him … Wild white badgers often team up with wild foxes to hunt prey. As well as share dens. And he was thinking our budding partnership was gonna be like that. Of course, he found out pretty quick that I didn’t even like going through the effort of hunting small wild prey. And I do my fair share of fighting, but only when it’s absolutely necessary,” he said seriously. But then his smile returned. “So. Back to business. First of all, how long have y’all had feelings for each other?” 

The king started. 

“And don’t tell me that’s not what’s going on, because he comes home smelling like you. Obviously the smell isn’t right for you two to have done anything yet, but, y’know. He always relies on that as an out, if I ever mention it, but he finally broke down the other day and said he wasn’t sure where he stood.” 

The king huffed and tightened his fists. 

This wasn’t coming from Mao, so he was miffed. 

“I just want you to know how this is for him. We’ve been literally all over the world. And … we have never, ever heard of a hero or soldier being involved with their commanders of any description. He told me he wasn’t sure if it would be OK. And of course the way he said it was a big long speech about professionalism and duty and blah blah I got the jist of it in two sentences and tuned out for the rest.” He chuckled. “He said later it was possibly kind of like Blue being involved with a patient…? Though I don’t really see it that way. That’s totally different. Or a professor involved with a student…? I mean, I asked Blue, and he said, a patient was out of the question, but some medical doctors end their treatment and pass a patient to another professional in order to date them? Huh. He said he would never do that unless an angel itself came down from on high to tell him to. Heh. He’s got a pretty good deadpan sense of humor once you get to know him! He said, next, the rules for professors at schools were different depending on what university you attended. But. At least, with like, a Master’s or a Ph.D. or even higher level Sc.D. program, or even asenior in undergraduate college, the ‘student’ would be well into adulthood. So I say go for it, if that’s what you want. But. Mao Mao says he couldn’t possibly ask about a commander … ask anyone in his family. That’s just not even on the table, he claims. He’d ‘die of shame.’ He’s already on rocky terms with a lot of them. That’s where he’s at right now. But, since I know Mao Mao… he probably would’ve already at least talked to you about the possibility if- iiiif”

He sighed. Scratched his head. Even looked out the window briefly. 

“Mao is usually pretty quick to hit on people if he wants to be a top,” he said finally.

The king blushed. 

“It takes a _heck_ of a _lot_ longer for him to muster up the courage to admit when he meets somebody who makes him want to bottom. It’s a pride thing. Pretty common in the circles we run in.” He put his paws together. “We’ve visited a lot of kingdoms, a lot of dynasties. Met a lot of adventurers. Some of whom were dutiful, but really nasty personality wise. It’s no longer so much of problem for me. I am self-conscious about a _whole_ _lotta_ junk, but mostly I try not to give a bat’s butt what people think of that aspect of me.” 

“Doesn’t seem the best phrase to be in the habit of using, given your amputee adoptee.”

“Yeah fair enough. I try not to give a horse’s hind end. How’s that?”

“Better.” 

Though obviously not if he hung out with or was caretaker for foals. 

Since the badger had two rats in his life he should despise- one from the gang he used to be in and another his current adversary- the king didn’t know why he wouldn’t refer to them instead.

He hadn’t expected the badger to react so nonchalantly to … well, language policing. Maybe, despite talk of college level students, that he picked up from Blue, he was unfamiliar with such debates that circulated courtrooms. 

“So. For Mao. He doesn’t act on this type of attraction for just _anybody_. He doesn’t even **_mention_** that part of his life to _just_ _anybody_. It’s different everywhere you go, but … I mean, there are some havens out there, but there are also some themes that hold pretty true. If you’re a guy and you’re taking the ‘lower’ position,” he shook his head, “His family knows, so it doesn’t nearly disqualify you from being a true hero or anything, but there is a little less respect. And he didn’t have a lot to begin with.” He looked at the floor. “Poor guy.” 

He went on, “So if he decides he wants to go through with this, Your Majesty, it’s really important you know how hard it is for him. How much, like, … _staggering baggage_ it brings up. I’d hope you wouldn’t take him for granted no matter _what_ the arrangement. But I’m telling you there are _extra_ reasons. I’m telling you **_not to._ ** ” His resemblance to a bear seemed to show a little more as his mouth hardened and he straightened up to his full height. “You’re not entitled and spoiled **_that_ ** way, right?” he asked directly. 

The lion was insulted. But since many royals and emperors _did_ act like that, he guessed he couldn’t be _too_ irritated. Besides, the badger was doing this for his friend. 

“Well first of all,” the lion said, even a big dumb brute like yourself could see- He caught himself. That was not nice. “If I were entitled, would I go this long with so much contact and not have pestered him?” 

“I dunno man, we all got our insecurities,” the badger said matter-of-factly. 

The king huffed. “Well I’ll have you know I’ve enjoyed what we do have and-”

“Dude you didn’t even know for sure he was attracted to men before I said anything, did you?” 

The lion clenched his jaw. 

“Yeah I didn’t think so.” 

Now really wanting to defend his character, the lion said quickly, “Surely you’ve noticed I don’t keep a harem. And that is quite normal for lions, royal or not.” 

“Yeah honestly almost the first thing I thought was ‘guy’s totally gay.’ Not gonna lie.” 

“You’ve _missed_ the point _entirely_ ,” the lion snapped, “idi-“ he swallowed back the word ‘idiot.’ Manners. Even though this situation was very unusual and was proving to be off-putting in some respects, that was no reason to forget himself. “I’d like you to think back on your travels. Sir, surely you’ve noticed that for … variety? …” he winced, as this was a fact of the world that upset him for very personal reasons, “for variety, some rulers and nobles keep male lovers among harems as well?” 

“Well yeah OK, but having an all male harem would be … pretty conspicuous and maybe you wouldn’t want to be the center of attention.” 

“Me? Not wanting to be the center of attention?”

“Well maybe not that _specific_ way.” 

He huffed again. “My orientation and preferences are **_none_ ** of your _business_.” 

“Sorry.” 

“My point **_was_ ** I’m not entitled. I would not have one _either way!_ ” He hated being talked to like this. No one in his life had ever done anything _remotely_ like it. “Mao may have given you permission to talk about his likes and dislikes, and maybe _you’re_ upfront, but that does _not_ mean I will share. I hope you don’t find that non-reciprocation ‘ _rude_ ’ but in the circles **_I_ ** run in, what you’re doing right now _would definitely be._ ”

“Yeah, no, I get that.” He nodded, chill as ever. 

“And even those without attractions to men can experiment if they want. So, even if he didn’t, that wouldn’t necessarily deter me.”

He has been _so_ mindful to Mao. Really, of all the things the badger could be wary about, accuse him of, the chubby animal had **no idea** how incredibly far off the mark he was, the lion thought indignantly. “Though, if the attraction weren’t there, it would require an _extra_ respectful and considerate approach.” 

“Oh you been doing some _seducing_ , have you, Snug? _Scandalous._ ”

The king blushed more furiously. That was **_not_ ** the word he would use and **_how dare he_ **-

“But for real though. Props man. I wouldn’t nearly have the patience for that,” the badger said lazily. The lion was completely thrown by the ensuing compliment, previous irritation dueling with acknowledgement. “You know I haven’t heard the sweetie pies say anything about you so I guess you keep everything pretty under wraps.”

“My dear man, the citizens of my kingdom are not dumb… well not _all_ of them … nor are they nose-blind. Animals who try to scrub up to avoid talk are just _loony._ Predators can smell in parts per trillion! Dogs can smell tiny, early stage _cancer_ , for goodness sake. A male feline can smell a female in heat _literally_ miles away. Maybe some insular societies with mainly birds and their beaks or rabbit civilizations or flat-nose primates can manage to keep things ‘under wraps’ as you say, or some other species’ kings who never go out in public and _threaten_ all their servants if they talk but I am n _one of those things!_ You said _yourself_ you _knew_ nothing had happened yet, fellow predator.”

“Uh, I consider myself an insectivore actually.”

“With regards to smell ability, you are a predator. Anatomy, too. Diet is inconsequential.”

He winced. “Ah…yeah I guess. Just. I’d prefer you not refer to me as one. That cool?”

“I suppose.” 

“Gotta respect the way people choose to identify, man.”

“Is that a common sentiment among adventurers?” the lion asked. “It’s not something I’ve seen crop up in the courts.”

“It’s not common to _avoid_ identifying as a predator. That _in itself_ is rare.” the badger said. “But like I said, I’m not like a lot of adventurers like Mao, who are raring for a tussle or a hunt a lot. Even most of the gals. Which, by the way, Mao’s into _them_ , too. Not like me. He does have a couple sisters that don’t fully subscribe to the ‘tough adventurer’ outlook . . . Not that they don’t identify as predators! It is, however, common for _average_ people of my . . . unclear diet status . . . ? . . . to argue over identifying different ways. Some bears, both civilian _and_ warrior, will get insulted if you call ‘em omnivores, even! They want to be seen as ‘real’ preds, just like wolves and felines. If people won’t do it they won’t, but you seem like the kind of guy to take somebody’s wishes into account, right? You’re considerate.” 

The lion nodded.

“I couldn’t imagine, say, someone of my species choosing not to identify as a predator. That would be pretty absurd.”

“Yeah there’s a lot less wiggle room there, objectively speaking.” the badger agreed. “I’m kinda like … an inter-diet animal, I guess would be a term for it? And what about an inter-species lion cross?”

“All Felidae are obligate carnivores, to my knowledge. And any crosses outside of a clade that big are extremely, exceedingly rare.”

“Oh really? I didn’t know that. Lions could technically survive eating insects though, right? Protein is protein.”

The lion shrugged. “No idea.” 

“Also there’s eggs and milk,” he added.

Again, the lion shrugged.

The badger paused. “And hey, say someone was raised by a different species family … I mean whatever the circumstances … if a guy told me he wanted me to call him whatever, I would.”

“Point taken.” 

“It’s not just about diet, though. You’re … no offense … a lot less assertive than … pretty much any lion I’ve ever met. Even female. You don’t even, like, make me address you by Your Majesty all the time. So if anyone was gonna be a candidate for that, it … might be you.”

“Hm. Not interested.” The lion backtracked in the conversation. He had been addressing the issue of his citizens’ opinions on the kings’ own partners, right? “Speaking of assertiveness. If you want to interview the sweetie pies about my forays and whom I’ve entertained over the many years of my reign, I suppose I can’t stop you. But _don’t_ come back here afterwards thinking you can just _casually prod me_ about my private life! Don’t insult me with this ‘under wraps’ talk. Such _rubbish!_ ” 

“OK, OK, sorry. Sheesh!! Y’know maybe you and Mao Mao _are_ right for each other, you just sounded a bunch like him.” 

That shook the lion a lot. How was this animal managing to get under the skin of someone who so _prided_ himself on decorum?? Plus- “I’m sorry but are you suggesting-” _you low brow miscreant who’s maybe let your scrap of social status in this place go to your head_ \- “that being totally _emotionally closed off_ and preferring to keep the bedroom in the bedroom _are the same thing?!?_ I’ve tried to be the _most_ courteous host to you _every_ time you are here, and not been too shy about sharing my deepest fears to both you **_and_ ** your friend! And you’re going to _brand_ me as, _what_ exactly??”

It took him almost a full minute to work out a response. It sounded like he was picking his words carefully. “Look uh… to me, wearing your heart on your sleeve and being open about who you like are the same thing. Maybe … uh … they aren’t to you, and all I can say is,” he shrugged, “of all the hundreds, maybe even thousands of people I’ve met traveling, partied with, fought, deferred to, yeah, you got a point that in general, keeping a lid on ALL everyday stuff is probably more ‘unhealthy’ and the specifics more optional. Especially if you’re currently single. Or like Mao, and dating a gal. At the same time, when you’re out there in the world, many places, Mao Mao’s brand of toughness is … more necessary. I may be blossoming here, ‘cause the culture is really on my wavelength, like all rainbows and shizz, but out there sometimes we’ve **_both_ ** had to be that way. Hmmm, I guess … nobody’s ’themselves’ 100% of the time. In a lot of cases, if I didn’t let him take the lead, follow his cues, who knows what would’ve happened. And then if I see he’s pushing himself too hard, he takes my advice on downtime and taking a break by maybe going to some less rougher areas. So… I guess what I’m saying is, not only is there upbringing to consider, and he’s got a _whopper of a strict family life_ , yikes ... it depends also on where you are. You may find the toughness weird but out there it can be a matter of safety- showing weakness brings more trouble, more people looking to take advantage. So _you’re_ able to be open that way and that’s _great!_ … and me even _more_ so … Being thrown off by Mao’s difficulty to adapt is a product of where you are. You may be tempted to think you’re ‘better’ than him in that way. And yeah I’ll give you you’re more well-adjusted. But consider all the angles. Dig?” His digging-for-grubs-suited claws tapped together, and he winked.

The king relaxed, soaking in the words silently. The badger definitely wasn’t as dense as he came off, even if his slang sounded unrefined to the king’s ears. 

“… let’s get back on topic here. Mao Mao’s prejudice issues. I have no idea what that part of the culture is like here. This place is remote and we’d never heard of it before. So that’s one question I’ve got to ask. Like you say, they’re not nose-blind. Will they think _less of him_ for taking that role for you? And I don’t even mean _super bad_ stuff, I couldn’t even _imagine_ that being the case here … but I think any even _passing_ snark, snickering, whatever, about it from such absolute _marshmallows_ would infuriate him … even _more_ than it _usually_ does.” He frowned. “In the past, if we’re in the right crowd, Mao hasn’t hesitated to straight up pummel some overbearing beefy jerk about it, no joke. He’s clocked his fair share of dudes a few times for a lot less. Now, of course, he won’t do that here! He can’t. Being an authority figure and all. It’s … in a small way ... it kinda reminds me of when he talks about ancient civilizations declawing a slave cat and leaving it defenseless. If we were here and he weren’t sheriff, I imagine he might, ya know, at least lightly slap some people over the head … generally be a bully in return. So even though it takes away one of his methods of responding, I guess I’m glad for that.” 

The king had to agree. He tried to picture anyone saying anything _remotely_ implying the dangerous, powerful Mao was submissive or even … dare he think it- ‘little’ or ‘cute’ in **_that_ ** context. And anyone who had the _utter guts_ to mock him **_on purpose,_ ** unswerving!! Maybe there were big reasons he went straight into a blind fury almost anytime someone called him that. The lion remembered the huge, gnarly looking brutes who had been spotted slinking out of his kingdom and abandoning the sky pirates. He suddenly felt self-conscious about thinking of the badger a ‘brute.’ There was an endless supply of despicable characters out there, frequenting bars the two friends had partaken in. _Huge_ animal species. At the same time, even _they_ weren’t **_nearly_ ** as big as the dragons Mao beat up on a regular basis. He hoped anyone on the receiving end of that particular brand of the tiny titan’s rage, no matter _how_ vile their opinions, could still walk straight. 

The badger must’ve been lost in his own thoughts, because he didn’t resume for a while. Especially if they were both drunk, the lion could easily imagine him using his robot arm to steer far clear of the cat’s magic radius and pull Mao off of someone when they’d had enough. He knew for a fact that in some places physical assault simply didn’t carry much legal gravitas because of magic available. How many healers’ coffers had been fattened when Mao entered any region willing to threaten or underestimate the ‘cute’ little cat? How many times might the pair have had to find a way to pay for windows being blasted through by the sheer concussive force of his magic?

“Outside the Valley … he … well, I’d really prefer not to get into it. Like I say, I just try to let it roll off me ... but … also, we can't just bounce outta this place, which has been another way we’ve dealt with prejudice sometimes in the past! His honor wouldn’t stand for it. So, he’d feel ‘trapped’ two ways, on top of already kinda feeling stuck here, pissed off all the time, and as frustrating and sometimes destructive as that is to those around him- including me- what that _really_ means is it’s _hurting_ him. A lot.” 

The lion rubbed his chin. Sure on some level he thought he knew anger ‘was’ pain but had never heard anyone state it so clearly. Mao’s fury, which at times came off as comical … Every part of this conversation where he himself had been wounded, all the belittling language in his head, towards the badger … All the lessons from his parents about pushing down his own anger whispered to him from the depths of his childhood, but he’d have to examine all that later. 

“I’m sorry but … “ the king shook his head. “No one ever said anything about it directly to me. Maybe because I’m their ruler? I honestly don’t know their opinions. I’d like to think the people here take after _me_ and simply respect peoples’ privacy, period. I do try to set a good example. Maybe you don’t think that’s ‘good’ necessarily but, well, like you say, it’s a matter of place. I do go out more than other royals maybe but I’ve still lived a pretty insulated life in the palace.”

“Well I guess it’s time to do what I do best and draw out the gossip around here,” he fluttered his eyelashes. The king was reminded of one time he had caught sight of him in a sun hat. “One of my favorite pastimes anyway, so no sweat to do it for a friend.” He opened a compartment in his arm, checked to see if he had a pen and paper, then stowed them again. 

It was cute how he was taking this so seriously on Mao’s behalf. It warmed the king’s heart and so he felt a little less on edge. 

“And I’ve got to throw in my own two cents, too. This is totally his decision and I’m gonna support him no matter what and therefore if need be have his back with the social aspect of it. But. Aside from all this other junk, I kinda don’t think this is a good idea.”

And then the oaf had to go ruin it.

“I really think he might feel … tied down by you. If there’s ever a way to fix the Ruby Pure Heart, he still really yearns to get out there again. And he’d feel incredibly guilty if the chance opened up, because believe it or not, he does care about you a lot!! I’m just fine with domestic tranquility or the road, either suits me. Well maybe the road is looking less nice the more time I spend in a soft bed … but anyway. He’s different. Still got the wanderlust, that guy. I don’t know if I should tell you this, because you might think he’s shirking work or whatever but he does roam on his bike a little bit still. Not too far out of sight of the Heart, since he’s gotta be able to get back here just in case. I always have a stash of flares handy in my robot arm. So anyway, you couldn’t just pick up and leave with us … or him… like anybody else he might meet could. Obviously the sweetie pies do nothing for him. Guy or gal, he tends to be into the rough and tumble type like himself, and,”

The lion must’ve failed to control his hurt reaction to that, because the badger stopped. 

“Hey … like … don’t feel that doesn’t fit you, or can’t fit you. All fancy-ness aside… Trust me. I think I still have bruises from where you head locked us. He likes you for a reason.” He winked.

“Weren’t you just making the case **_not_ ** to ...?” 

“I still am. There’s just no need to be insensitive about it.” 

The lion sniffed. There were so many exhausting swings in this conversation he was starting to lose track of whether he loved or hated this cyborg. And he had a sneaking suspicion that pattern wasn’t over, either. 

And he slowly realized that, through it all, the badger had only _once_ even _slightly_ raised his voice. There was no ill intent here whatsoever. What did it say about him and his upbringing that he had to barely keep from verbally attacking someone who meant him zero harm? 

Surely he could uphold his own beliefs without being so touchy. 

“So. There’s always the odd wanderer like us coming through, plus he’s not totally disconnected from the outside world, either ya know. He sends letters. It’s kinda cute, he’s old fashioned, doesn’t prefer to just pick up the phone. He likes having the physical reminders to pour over. Even likes working on penmanship and calligraphy. Adorabat’s way into that now because of him. Just … I don’t know how seriously you take this, if you’re just curious or if you’re thinking long term … but. I’m asking you this as his friend. Don’t push him for the second. Not for a while at least. This is already incredibly complex and difficult for him on multiple fronts and he doesn’t need the immediate added pressure of a king asking that of him. OK? I mean if there’s some etiquette rule or convention that’s against-” he threw up his arms, “... like I say, I don’t know what the common folk culture around here is for these things, and I don’t know what the high class one is either! But if it’s possible, please don’t expect that of him …” 

The king crossed his arms. He wanted to say that he thought the badger was _vastly_ overstepping. Also he was suspicious. 

The badger was acting so casual about all of this, yet he had a funny feeling about the tacked on resistance. “So you’re reserving him for yourself in the future, just in case?” 

The badger was an open book. His reactions did not reassure him whatsoever. He fumbled for a moment. “Uh- ah- I mean, I’ll be straight with you. Do I have dreams about him occasionally? Yeah. But I’m way more into that buff purple ox guy right now. Still kinda in the hinting stage in the real world maybe, but it’s a party up in here.” He tapped his head. “Like, understand this, I’m not here to, like, mark my territory, you know? I’m only looking out for him. Mao and I have discussed it … I've been attracted to and been with enough people that I can tell on my side it would be casual. And- this is why I’m cautioning you … in most cases he can’t do casual unless there’s like,” he extended his robo arm out two body lengths, “unless there’s like _geographic_ level separation afterwards. That’s fine when you’re out traveling the world and meeting new people all the time, but being with each other consistently is different, obviously. He knows that about himself. So I respect that. And you just may need to, too. He sometimes grudgingly permits me to cuddle him when I really, really need it and I do appreciate that. But even _that’s_ not necessary now that we’re here and well . . . _everyone_ seems to like cuddling!” He grinned. “Sweet place, for reals. I love it. So he can officially end that ‘duty.’ And yeah, that’s an inside joke we have … That may be one thing he _really_ likes about this place. Heheheh.” 

“Well thank you for being so honest.” That he could receive long, totally open explanations from a badger he barely spent any time with only underscored how _incredibly_ difficult it was to get Mao to communicate. 

This was certainly an unexpected source of insight, but, he should be grateful, he supposed. 

“How _in the world_ did you get Mao to _agree_ to this?”

The easygoing fighter blinked several times. “Oh. Ha. Um. I may have,” he twiddled his thumbs, “told him that I was gonna threaten you within an inch of your life ‘if you hurt him.’ That’s not my style, y’know, but he doesn’t accept motivations based on only warm fuzzies.” 

The lion guffawed loudly, and kept going until his eyes watered and his stomach hurt. “Y-yes,” he wiped away some moisture. “That- **_that_ ** sounds like him.”


End file.
